The poet wants to drink from the well of origin; to write the poem that has not yet been written. In order to enter this level of originality, the poet must reach beyond the chorus of chattering voices that people the surface of a culture. Furthermore, the poet must reach deeper inward; go deeper than the private hoard of voices down to the root-voice. It is here that individuality has the taste of danger, vitality and vulnerability. Here the creative has the necessity of inevitability; this is the threshold where imagination engages raw, unformed experience. This is the sense you have when you read a true poem. You know it could not be other than it is. Its self and its form are one.

John O’Donohue

I felt a bit restless and leaning on the discontent side of things Sunday afternoon. I would say it’s what O’Donohue calls “the private hoard of voices” that sometimes hang out in my head. My solution was some journaling time, a walk at Reservoir Ridge Natural Area and connecting to the poem of nature (I like that phrase). After journaling I decided I better get a walk in before it rained as the wind had picked up and darker clouds slowly moved in. Good timing as It began sprinkling by the time I walked back to the car but it never did rain. I have been fascinated by some wonderful clouds this spring and Sunday was another day for them. I accepted the gift nature offered me and now offer it to you!