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A Hard Won Slice

This week feels long and it’s only Tuesday. I told myself I’d write tonight. I still haven’t done so. But, I did enjoy a nice, large glass of red wine. So, that’s a win. And I’m trying to write, which is better than giving up. Right?

I can’t settle on anything to write about, though. Nothing feels right. I’ve already done it, or it’s boring, or I’m boring, or something. So finally, I just gave myself 15 minutes and told myself to do it. Just write about something.

I could write about recess in the winter in Maine. About how we go outside even when the real feel hovers around 10˚F or a bit colder. Maine children know how to dress for the cold. They put on all their layers (which takes an eternity!) and then once we’re outside, quite a few of them surreptitiously remove their coats when teachers aren’t looking. “It’s hot!” they complain as we insist they put on their jackets while we huddle in our full length coats and clutch our electronic hand warmers. The other day some kids found hoarfrost in the playground drain grids. “It looks like snowflakes!” they exclaimed! “They are like little crystals and they melt when I touch them!” It’s gorgeous out there, but the cold can take your breath away. Somedays, no matter how many layers you wear, it seems to take hours to truly feel warm again!

I could write about our current Science unit. About how kids are exclaiming, “Look, Mrs. Hogan! There are geysers coming out of the rocks!” as they observe the volcanic rocks they’ve submitted in water. How they take the hand lenses and wear them like glasses, their little eyes magnified and buggy. How I’ve had several heart to heart talks with students, trying to open their eyes to the depressing reality that “poop”, although hilarious, really is not the best descriptive word choice for the color brown.

Or I could write about a recent day when we’d been mapping and studying the word “other”. We came up with a rhythmic chant to help us remember it–O! T-H-E-R! A little later when I challenged them to write it on their slates, I noticed a student was stuck. I wandered up behind him and started quietly chanting to help him out. Apparently, I was moving about a bit enthusiastically, too. Another student noticed and piped up, “Mrs. Hogan! You’ve got some moves, Girl!” which sent us all off into peals of laughter and a short-lived dance party.

So, there it is. Not really a slice, but a few of them cobbled together. A Frankenstein slice maybe? lol

But, hey, I wrote. So, in my book, that’s a definite win.

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Seeking small doses of joy

These days, more than ever, I’m following Mary Oliver’s advice and actively looking to be astonished and stand in wonder. The opportunities are there if you “pay attention”, and I need the counterbalance. So, I’m actively tuning myself to the joy channel, trying to notice and linger in such moments–this morning’s moonlight streaming through a frosty window…the daily sunrise…mist rising from the river as I cross the bridge on a frigid morning…the laughter of children reveling in the new fallen snow at recess…the steady warmth of the wood stove’s heat on my back as I write…so many small moments of wonder! And here was another one:

Taking the trash out on a January morning

I step outside into bitter cold
into clear, clean air
and a glow in the west
The moon hides below
the tops of snow-sugared pines
and casts a diffuse light heavenward

In the east the sun rises
in purples and reds
smudged with charcoal clouds
a canvas for the stark elegance
of winter trees

After hoisting the trash into the bin
I turn carefully
on the ice coated driveway
west to east,  moon to sun
and then again
east to west, sun to moon

I turn and turn and turn

dizzy with the glory of it all 

©Molly Hogan

I hope that your days offer up small wonders to notice and be astonished by, and that they act as a balm in these bruising times.

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Amy Ludwig VanDerwater at her blog, The Poem Farm.

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The Unwaning Lure of Snow

I woke and glanced over at the clock. 3:46 am.

How much had it snowed?

Lying in my nest of blankets, I imagined piles of snow draping the garden, layered upon the table like a huge dome of frosting on a cake. Did we have a foot? More?

I already knew we didn’t have school, so there was no need to get up and wait for a call. I closed my eyes and snuggled deeper, willing my body to fall back to sleep.

My mind had other ideas.

Maybe I should just go to take a quick look?

I’d deliberately left the outside light on overnight, in case I woke during the night, and wanted to take a quick peek from upstairs to gauge the snowfall. But I’d slept through and now it was morning. Well, sort of. Still, I could just take a look. But I know myself well enough to know that once I’m up and out of bed, I’m up.

“Go back to sleep,” I told myself. “The snow will still be there when you wake up!”

So, I tried. Really, I did. I lay there beneath the blankets, my eyes closed, sternly telling myself to sleep. I was warm. I was cozy. I was dying to know how much snow there was!

Finally at 4:03 I gave up. I couldn’t resist any longer. I had to know.

I reached for my glasses, put on my robe, and tiptoed out of the bedroom and into the hallway. Then I peeked out of the frosted window to the garden below. Mounds of sparkling white draped everything in sight. My eyes scanned the scene, utterly delighted by how the heavy snowfall transformed the world outside my door. It was absolutely beautiful– a generous gift from Winter, and one that was well worth getting out of bed early!

No matter how old I get, I simply can’t resist the lure of of a fresh snowfall.

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PF: A Pantoum

Somehow January has flown by. I just realized that I haven’t managed to show up for Poetry Friday more than once. Yikes! That’s a trend I intend to break, so I’m showing up a day late to the gathering.

I love when Pádraig Ó Tuama reminds me to try out a pantoum (here). His formula always yields interesting results. He says to write 8 lines, number them and put them into this order: 1,2,3,4 2,5,4,6 5,7,6,8 7,3,8,1. Then he says, “As lines repeat, feel free to punk them up a bit.” So here’s my pantoum-ish poem:

New Year’s Day

I forgot to watch for the first bird
I watch the snow fall instead
The trees shiver, draped in winter white and
we have eight blue birds at the feeder

I watch the snow fall
Even inside, the air by the windows is cold
While blue birds come and go from the feeder
my pen stumbles and starts

The air by the windows remains cold
As the moon descends, the sun peeks over the horizon
My pen stumbles and starts
The stack of firewood is getting low

The moon has disappeared: the sun peeks over the horizon
The trees are graceful, draped in winter white
The stack of firewood is getting low
I forgot to watch for the first bird

©Molly Hogan, draft

This week’s Poetry Friday is hosted by Tabatha at her blog, The Opposite of Indifference.

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Winter Cold

Winter’s grip has been fierce in recent weeks. Most days the temperatures struggle to get into the twenties, and that’s not considering the wind-chill. Usually, I can lean into the beauty of winter, and take the cold days in stride, but the consistently below normal temperatures have been making that more challenging than usual. (I may have even complained once or twice.)

This past weekend my lovely, long December break was winding to a close, and I found myself chafing against the unrelenting cold and determined to get outside. I was yearning for an opportunity to do some early morning wandering, filled with fresh air and natural beauty. I knew that once school started back up, my opportunities would be much more limited. So, on Saturday night, the last “free” night, I made up my mind.

“I’m going to go look for snowy owls and walk on the beach tomorrow morning” I announced to my husband.

He looked at me askance. “What’s the temperature supposed to be?”

“I don’t know. Mid-high teens?” I paused and wondered if I should check the forecast more carefully. “You know what?” I said suddenly, defiantly, “I don’t care what the temperature is! I’m going!”

“Ok,” he said. “Wake me up early, and I’ll come with you.” (Wow! I guess we were both feeling a little bit claustrophobic!)

So, shortly after 7 on Sunday morning, bundled up as if heading into the tundra, we set out for the beach. We chose to head to one about an hour south, where snowy owls tend to visit. (Spoiler alert: we didn’t see any.)

When we arrived at the beach, it was snowing and other than a small cluster of birds, the beach was mostly deserted. Thankfully, there wasn’t much wind, but when we got out of the car, the cold slapped us in the face. I wondered if we’d made a mistake.

“Well,” I said, looking at Kurt, “if it’s too bad, we can just drive around.”

We pulled our hats down further and burrowed into our layers. I pulled my hood up over my hat and then tucked my fingers deep into my pockets, cradling two hand warmers . We walked down onto the beach, where the tide’s edge was marked with frozen slush. (You know it’s cold when salt water’s freezing! )

Thankfully, as we walked, we got a bit warmer. Well, a little bit.

Moving along the beach, we approached the flock of birds. Though, I’m not positive, I think they were sanderlings. They huddled along the shoreline, feet encased in bubbling surf, occasionally running a few feet ahead, but mostly standing still. Just looking at them made me even colder.

As we neared, they moved slightly away from us. They seemed a bit sluggish, decidedly less active than usual. One, slightly behind the others, hopped along toward the group, and something about its movement caught my eye.

“Oh, no,” I said, “Do you see that? I think something’s wrong with one of its legs. It looks like it’s only using one of them.”

“Well, a lot of them are only on one leg,” Kurt noted.

“Yeah, but this one only moved on one leg. Did you see it hopping?”

I struggled to catch sight of the bird again, amidst the others. From a distance, I still couldn’t be sure, but one leg looked different. Also, whenever this bird moved, it still hopped from place to place. The others scurried with both legs, and when they stopped, they’d tuck the other leg up, to keep it warm. We watched the birds for several minutes, and I took a few photos, but it was too cold to linger. We wandered away, moving further up the beach, and my attention drifting to other things.

Before long, we decided to call it quits. Our feet were cold, our cheeks vivid pink, and our noses were running. But, hey! We’d gotten some fresh air and we’d gotten outside. It felt like a victory!

Note: Later, when I got home, I was still thinking about that bird. I downloaded my pictures and when I zoomed in a bit, I could clearly see that the its leg was significantly impaired.

I’ve been thinking about it a lot since then. About endurance and survival. About how harsh life can be. It feels like there’s a message in there somewhere. I’m still waiting for it to land.

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PF: January

This month our Inklings challenge came from Catherine Flynn. She invited us to write a poem beginning with either “This is January” or “January.” My thoughts immediately turned to John Updike’s poem “January” and it’s first stanza, which eloquently sums up what our days are like during a Maine winter:

The days are short,
The sun a spark,
Hung thin between
The dark and dark.

Inspired by this poem, I first tried writing some rhyming verses, but that fizzled out pretty quickly. Then, when I woke early on New Year’s Day, it was snowing. It was unexpected and oh, so lovely.

January

begins with the slow hush
of snowfall
dark skies brighten with
lacy flakes tracing
their earthbound migration

A peaceful gathering

©Molly Hogan

I’m hoping for many tranquil, peaceful moments for us all during this coming year.

Catherine is hosting the Poetry Friday Roundup this week at her blog, Reading to the Core, and you can read her response to the prompt there. If you want to see what the other Inklings did with this challenge, click on the links below.

Mary Lee @ A(nother) Year of Reading
Linda @A Word Edgewise
Margaret @Reflections on the Teche
Heidi @my juicy little universe

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PF: Duality

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Tricia at her blog, The Miss Rumphius Effect. She’s sharing the Poetry Sisters’ most recent challenge, writing poems of peace, light or hope. By chance, my post fits right in with this challenge–a happy coincidence! Here’s my image poem to end the year. Something to ponder.

Duality

The light
that kindles ice
to sparkling heart
is also the catalyst
for its inevitable
melting

©Molly Hogan, draft

Wishing everyone love and light during this holiday season!

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Feeling Small

My weekday morning book is entitled, “Phosphorescence: On Awe, Wonder and Things That Sustain You When the World Goes Dark by Julia Baird. It’s a combination of memoir and scientific findings, and reminds me a bit of Katherine May’s “Wintering”, which I love. I find myself highlighting occasional phrases or passages. Recently, I was struck by these lines, and jotted them down in my notebook:
“We spend a lot of time in life trying to make ourselves feel bigger–to project ourselves, occupy space, command attention, demand respect–so much so that we seem to have forgotten how comforting it can be to feel small and experience something greater than ourselves, something unfathomable, unconquerable and mysterious.”

I turned these words over and over in my mind. So often we think of being small in a negative sense. As being disempowered or vulnerable. To make someone feel small is to belittle or demean them. The idea that there is a flip side to this, that such a feeling might be positive, was intriguing to me.

Julia Baird goes on to write, “This sense of smallness seems to be a key to a true experience of awe.” She writes about how architects designed vast interiors in cathedrals to inspire “a sense of smallness, and consequently, awe.” She notes that researchers have tracked people’s reported experiences with awe and found that “on average, they encountered something that inspired awe every three days, such as ‘music played on a street corner at 2 am, individuals standing up to injustice, or autumnal leaves cascading from trees.'”

I mixed these ideas in my mind: feeling small, feeling awe.

Then, I went to the beach:

There is assuredly some comfort and peace to be found in feeling small.

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Wordle Poems

I start every day with Wordle. It’s a guaranteed morning pleasure…and an occasional frustration. I extend the pleasure each morning by gathering up my guesses and trying to create poems from them. It’s a low-stakes and fun way to generate some poetry in my notebook. I find the combination of words can force me to make interesting and surprising connections I would never have considered otherwise. Here are a couple of recent efforts.

Wordle guesses: alter, spell, whelk, wield

To alter your world

emerge from the hypnotic spell
of the in-and-out tide
of the banal.

Spiral your shell
into gorgeous intricacy,
like a whelk
wielding basic elements
to create complex beauty.

©Molly Hogan

Wordle guesses: grace, point, slunk, funny, bunny

Grant yourself grace

when you wish yourself
elsewhere
wonder what’s the point
and why you haven’t
already slunk far away
from the current scene.

It’s a funny thing
how we join the conga line
or bunny hop along with the herd
even as we yearn
for other places
or spaces
for oases of calm.

©Molly Hogan

Thoughts of the bunny hop led me back to happy childhood memories and a bit of a rabbit hole (ha!) on the internet. Enjoy!

This week’s Poetry Friday is hosted by Linda Mitchell at her blog, A Word Edgewise. She’s sharing a delightfully creative December mash-up! Be sure to check it out!

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PF: Inklings Challenge: Your Slip is Showing

This month Heidi had our Inklings’ challenge and she invited us to “address an item of our clothing.” I debated about an ode to socks, as I am quite a fan, but swiftly opted toward more intimate apparel.

I played around with a variety of forms, trying to do justice to slips and half-slips.

How about a little terse verse?
What do you call a slip with a bit of spandex? a hip grip

Ugh…that is not inspiring!

Maybe a limerick?

There once was a woman who tried
with a whisper of fabric to hide
any clinging or bulging
that could be divulging
her truest form to the outside.

©Molly Hogan

That one sounded more like a girdle than a slip…which reminded me of my grandmother unfolding herself from the car after a long ride from New Jersey to Pennsylvania, bemoaning the pressure of her girdle. “You’ll see what it’s like someday,” she said to me. Despite her dire prediction, I never did… and she never witnessed them becoming an outer rather than inner garment in popular culture. But I digress…

Next, I played around with a Zeno for a while. Those one syllable requirements are tricky!

Half Slip

Hidden, provocative or prim,
all anti-cling,
silken
glide.
Whispered slither,
fabrics
slide.
Modest so it’s
seldom
spied.

©Molly Hogan

Finally, I remembered that Margaret Simon had shared a prompt from Joyce Sidman: address an inanimate object and give it a compliment, ask a question, and express a wish. The final few lines of that Zeno had me thinking…

To My Half-Slip

How easily you arbitrate between fabrics,
settling disputes about chafing and cling.
Cultural change pushed you toward becoming
a fashion anachronism. How have you persevered,
doing your job behind the scenes
as a diligent defender of modesty,
enhancer of graceful drape,
and a transformer of transparent to opaque?
You’re a hidden workhorse
disguised as a whisper of silk!
And though perhaps it’s ungracious of me, 
I do have one request–
I truly wish you could resist the urge
to give in, let go,
and slip
and show
below my hem.

©Molly Hogan

If you’re interested in seeing what the rest of the Inklings did with this challenge, click on the links below:

Mary Lee @ A(nother) Year of Reading
Linda @A Word Edgewise
Catherine @Reading to the Core
Margaret @Reflections on the Teche
Heidi @my juicy little universe

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Irene Latham at her blog, Live Your Poem, and offers more links to all sorts of poetry goodness. Be sure to stop by and check it out!