 Poetry: January 15, 2025 Issue [#12934] |
This week: Road Trip - Ideas Around Every Bend Edited by: Fyn  
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We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master. ~Ernest Hemingway
Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on. ~Louis L’Amour
You learn to write by writing. ~William Zinsser
Everybody walks past a thousand story ideas every day. The good writers are the ones who see five or six of them. Most people don’t see any. ~Orson Scott Card
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I am sandwiching a quick round trip to Buffalo and back from Michigan. Layering myself between blizzards, lake-effect snows, and brutal cold, I manage to avoid the worst weather. An audiobook is reading me 'Fourth Wing,' a book I totally enjoyed. To my left, Lake Erie looks blue-grey, cold and forbidding. Traffic is light (It's Sunday) and I'm running along with traffic in the slow lane. Ohio is not the most interesting of states to drive almost totally across. Colorless, basically. Fields, farms, trees, and birds are but ink sketches against a pale vellum sky. Hmm, I think, forgetting all about my newsletter, there's an idea for a poem.
At a rest stop, I see an elderly gentleman, walking carefully as he limps to the door. He's stocky, with a Fu Manchu mustache hanging to his chest over a Harley-Davidson leather vest. He smiles hello, and holds the door for me. His eyes are an electric blue. Thinning grey hair hangs to his shoulders. "Cold enough for ya?" he asks. I shiver, smile, and say that I can't wait for Spring. "You and me both," he replies as he heads indoors. Just a moment and yet now another idea starts swirling even as the sky descends in a quick flurry of snowflakes.
Back on the road and heading through Cleveland, OH. There's a large building on the north side of the road. Humpback whales leap and cavort over the highway side of it. Instantly, my mind is in Maui. Warm Maui. The juxtaposition of Maui and the snow squall sends ideas skittering across my mind. I hit pause on my story to let them ramble around a bit.
I call my husband and ask him to write down a few lines for me as well as the exit number I'll need later when I stop at the motel. He's used to 'playing secretary' when I'm on the road. He had my notebook right there on the table. "I figured you'd be calling sooner or later. You always do," he laughs.
Through Pennsylvania and into New York. Cameras overhead mean no more stopping at toll booths and digging out change. Lake Erie, still on my left, now is a thick, dark grey line against a lighter grey sky. Even the road is just patches of grey midst the white. Monochromatic, a black-and-white mental photo. I call my husband again. He scribbles ideas down and I smile.
The man at the Seneca Reservation gas pump stands out, a splash of color, red and black plaid jacket vivid against the snow. I pick up what I came for and head down the road for Hormel Spiced Ham and Wise potato chips-- two other things I cannot get in Michigan. Then, it is back to the highway and heading towards the Ohio border where I'll stop for the night. It's after four now and the sun comes out, riding just below the bottom edge of my visor. I've been driving sine nine this morning. Getting weary.
As the sun sinks beneath the horizon, the snow starts again. Happily I'm only a few miles from the exit number I forgot. I call my husband and he says what it is before I can even ask. I'm asleep in my cold room that has yet to warm up by seven. Next trip, I must remember to pack a blanket; a warm one! An idea swirls, but I shut it down. I need to sleep.
I'm up and finished with my horrible motel coffee by sunrise and get back on the road. I'm home by noon, greeted by my dog who insists Mom's been gone forEVer! I let the dog out for a short romp, start the fire again, and drink a really good cup of coffee. I talk to the two friends who knew I was gone, letting them know I am home safely. I text with a friend in Florida who is grousing that she feels so uninspired. I suggest a road trip. She thinks I'm crazy. I scribble some thoughts down in the idea book before letting the dog in and heading for a nap. I think about my friend down in the warm south with her orchids blooming and palm trees swaying in a light breeze. My newsletter idea gels.
There is so much to see every day. So many ideas swirling around us. We just need to SEE them. We just need to observe with wide open eyes and not just look out half looking. Seeing is more than watching where we plant our feet, whether or not it is snowing (or what-evering), and running down to-do lists!
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Jay O'Toole   writes: Thanks, Fyn.
Excellent poem! I can relate on some levels. I wear glasses, too.
Your closing paragraph sparked my poem, today. Thanks for the hard, heart work.
Monty  says: So it is written in poetry the good bit of the story of your life. Thank you for sharing.
A super News Letter.
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