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SOLC Day 2: A Moment in Second Grade

March 2023 SOLC–Day 2
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

We were gathered at the rug in the midst of a discussion about types of fiction: specifically, realistic fiction, fantasy, and fables. (Oh, my.) We were looking at a couple of books and trying to decide which category they fit into. Some of them were a bit tricky. At this particular moment we were focused on fantasy.

T raised his hand, “Well, if a book has talking animals, it would be fantasy. Because in the real world animals don’t talk.”

Several students nodded in agreement or signaled that they had had the same thought.

“What about Mercy Watson?” V asked. “She doesn’t talk, but she sleeps in a bed and dreams of toast.”

“Is Fly Guy fantasy or realistic fiction?” M piped up. “He mostly just says ‘Buzzz’.”

S’s hand popped up, waving wildly, and he simultaneously blurted, “Well, some animals talk. Parrots talk.”

“Well, that’s true, ” I began, but S kept right on going. He was clearly determined to prove his point.

“Parrots do talk,” he repeated.

Lowering his hand, he tapped X, who was sitting next to him, on the shoulder.

“Do you want to be a parrot?” S asked him with great enthusiasm.

X, who clearly had not been followed the conversation, jerked to a more alert state and peered at S.

“Huh?” He looked like a confused chick with his sleepy eyes and tousled downy hair.

“Do you want to be a parrot?” S repeated.

“Oh, OK,” X answered promptly. (He clearly had no idea what was going on, but was game.)

“OK,” said S He prepared himself, shifting on the rug, sitting up straighter and looking straight at X.

“Hello,” he said clearly in his best parrot voice (which sounded uncannily like his regular voice).

“Hello,” replied X in a similar fashion.

“See,” declared S triumphantly, looking around at the class with a satisfied grin.

And he rested his case.

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SOLC Day 1: A Mindful Moment in the Snow

March 2023 SOLC–Day 1
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

Late yesterday afternoon, I bundled up and slipped outside into the snow. Immediately, the cold flakes hit my face and I couldn’t help smiling.

Why hadn’t I come out earlier? 

All day long the snow had been falling and I’d been watching it from inside. Happy to be watching the birds. Warmed by the steady heat of the wood stove. Enjoying the drowsy, PJs-all-day, snow globe kind of day. 

Now, the feel of the snow on my face animated me, and I set out to wander. Before too long, I noticed that I hadn’t been the only one out and about. Fresh deer tracks led across a back trail, weaving between trees. 

How long ago had they passed? Had they been watching me? Had I inadvertently startled them? Were they still there?

I paused and scanned the trees, waiting for long hushed moments. I heard nothing but the soft sound of my breath. I saw nothing moving other than the drifting snowflakes.

After a bit, I walked further into a clearing out back. The falling snow was striking against the contrast of the deep green of the tall pines. The branches of the smaller trees bowed gracefully under its accumulating weight.

I wandered on, my attention caught by one thing after another. In the back field, remnants of wildflowers cupped collected snow in delicate chalices. 

In a marvel of textures, the bark on the pine trees boasted soft pillows of snow amidst its collection of scalloped green lichens.

Once I’d had my fill of wandering and wondering, I walked back to the front yard and looked across the smooth expanse of white. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to lie down in the middle of it all.

Why not?

I waded out into the yard, found a good spot, sat and then lay down flat on my back. I turned my face upward. I thought of making snow angels as a child, but that had no appeal. Today felt like a still kind of day. So I simply lay there, arms by my side, watching the flakes fall in spirals from the grey sky. A hypnotic ever changing swirl of grey and white. They appeared one flake after another after another.Collecting on my coat, my face, my glasses.

I lay quietly watching for a long time. Mesmerized. Then I closed my eyes. Through my coat, I could feel the cushion of mounded snow. The distant cold solidity of the ground. I felt the flakes land gently on my cheeks. Felt them settle and melt from my body’s heat. One after another after another.

In that moment I knew I was exactly where I wanted to be. Doing exactly what I wanted to do. Utterly content.

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A Gift of Tulips

A Gift 

An enchantment of tulips
graces the ceramic vase.
Over the flow of days
their petals curl and fade,
stems weaken and bow,
elegant in their curved descent.
Then in a final cascading rush,
each flower splays into full blossom,
casting petals upon the table.
A last tender offering.

©Molly Hogan

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Tabatha Yeatts at her blog, The Opposite of Indifference. Be sure to stop by! Tabatha’s posts always leave you with something new to ponder and there are links to other poetic offerings as well.

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Poetry Friday is here!

I love the trees in winter. My eyes are drawn to them, to their still winter silhouettes against the changing tapestry of the skies. There’s something so clean and clear about them. Undiluted dendritic elegance.

Driving home recently, I had the sudden realization that I will miss the stark winter trees come spring. While I’ll certainly enjoy the delicate emergence of greenery, something within me cleaves to the clarity of winter tree lines. Their shapes and shadows collaborate with sky and water and snow-covered land. They resonate with me on a fundamental level. I felt an odd sense of grief at their impending transformation and a deep appreciation for their presence.

A Tree in Winter

Plant a tree
above my grave
Not one to bloom
in rubied exuberance
nor an evergreen
unchanging
season after season

Instead, plant a tree
with winter in mind
a tree that is stalwart and true
one that stretches upward
into the lingering shadows
of long, cold days
quilting the skies
at dawn and dusk,
its limbs a tracery
a testament to endurance
and a reassurance
Solace and stark beauty
in the dark, dark days

©Molly Hogan, draft

I hope my poem doesn’t come across as too dark. I really am just feeling thankful for the beauty of trees in a still somber landscape. In Maine, winter is still firmly entrenched, though every day the sun rises a touch earlier and sets a touch later. And those beautiful, beautiful trees rise above it all. Wishing you winter or early spring beauty wherever you may be.

Please share your link below. My comments may be delayed due to tentative travel plans this weekend, but I’ll definitely be visiting all your posts sooner or later. Thanks for sharing!

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!Click here to enter

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A Trick of the Light

The morning sun spills in through aged glass to pebble the wall, highlighting the dust that’s gathered on the side table. It lingers on the lopsided ceramic dish, crafted long ago by little fingers.

Yesterday’s gift, today’s time capsule.

The light flows over an old roll of film rescued from some forgotten corner, placed there on the table where temporary spun into long-lasting. It, too, no doubt, wears a fine mantle of dust. What memories rustle within?

The light quivers, casting an aquatic feel over the scene. Submerging items. In light. In dust. In time.

Today perhaps I’ll wipe off the table, put a few candies in the empty dish. Perhaps I’ll even research where I can send film for developing.

Or maybe I’ll just let the memories lie still, and sit and watch the light play across the wall, flickering like an old movie reel.

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Playing with Existing Narratives

I’m participating in Laura Shovan’s February Challenge this year. I must confess that I haven’t been as consistent as usual in my participation. I think right now I’m at a 50% response rate. I’m trying to look at that as half success, rather than as half failure. At any rate, I’m hoping to rectify that moving forward. (Yay for weekends!)

Our first prompt was essentially to deconstruct or mess around with a narrative or its structure. While initially this felt a bit brain-twisty, eventually I found it fascinating. I loved reading all the amazingly creative takes on it, too. I shared one response with the group, but was inspired to write another one as well.

(Photo credit to : markmatucciphoto)

“The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.”
The other version

That Dog
laid still,
played dead.
He wasn’t lazy
not at all

And that Fox
wasn’t quite
as quick as 
he claimed.
Though he was brown.
Then.

That Fox did jump
or try to jump
over that still 
seemingly lazy Dog.

But that wily Dog
stood up 
with a Woof shake Woof
catching that Fox 
in a brief mid-air
limbtangle.

Then that Dog
untangled himself,
and shrugged off Fox
and trotted away
with a lazy grin.

That Fox dusted off
his chagrin,
blushing red
from tip to tail,
and limped away…

not quite as quick
as before.

©Molly Hogan

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Carol Varsalona at her blog, Beyond Literacy Link.

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Just a Small Moment

I could easily have missed it.

I happened to glance over amidst the hubbub of snow gear removal after recess. M, a whirling dervish of a second grader, was kneeling before D, who sat in a chair. It may have been the circle of stillness around them that caught my eye. To be clear, M isn’t well-known for consistently making well-considered choices, so I definitely wanted to take a closer look.

What was going on? I wondered.

I walked across the room, watching as M’s hand reached out. He grasped the rear collar of D’s shoe and pulled it back. D simultaneously pushed to slip his foot into the shoe. D had arrived at school that day delighted with his new pair of adaptive shoes. The most recent new pair had been difficult to get on with a too-tight fit. These had laces and a velcro strap rather than zippers, and appeared much easier to manage. Apparently, M had decided to give him a hand.

It struck me that I had never really seen M and D interact much before. They certainly got along, but didn’t partner up much and certainly didn’t “hang out.” But there they were.

As I watched, M sat down on the floor, picked up D’s shoelaces, and got to work. I moved over to check in with D. about something else. We talked for a minute or two. As our conversation ended, M still sat on the floor, working intently.

Suddenly he shrugged and dropped the laces, abandoning the job. He looked up.

“I can’t really tie shoes,” he admitted to D, “that’s why I don’t have the tying kind of shoe.”

“That’s ok, “D said. “It’s nice that you tried. Thanks!”

M got up and whirled away.

It was such a small moment, but it’s lingered with me.

And to think, I could easily have missed it.

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Almost Forgot to Flow

Catherine Flynn had our Inklings challenge this month. She took her prompt from the book How to Love the World: Poems of Gratitude and Hope. Here was the invitation she shared: “Can you remember a time when you felt so consumed with the act of making something that you lost all sense of time and your mind seemed to clear? What allowed you to enter this mindful creative space?” When we talked about the prompt, there was some discussion of flow and losing oneself in the flow.

To be honest, there’s a little bit too much flow going on around here, because apparently January flowed right into February without my paying too much attention. Bottom line: I did not remember that our Inkling challenge was due until last night when I was in bed. Oops. And then I had a full day of PD today.

I came home determined to write something. I thought about times I’d felt immersed in creativity, lost to the ticking of the clock, and almost always I remembered mornings outside with my camera in hand. These are such magical moments for me. My mind wandered, recalling vivid sunrises, spiraling sea smoke, soaring birds and dazzling explosions of hoarfrost…the next thing I knew, I was waking up in my chair. It really has been a long, long week.

I finally cobbled together a nonet, expanding from a couple of lines I’d written in my notebook.

Dawn
tendrils
into full
blossoming day.
Watch the world wake and
shake off nighttime shadows
Follow its invitation
from one hidden gem to the next
Lose yourself in winter’s enchantment

©Molly Hogan

If you want to see what the other Inklings did with this challenge, check their sites:

Linda Mitchell
Margaret Simon
Heidi Mordhorst
MaryLee Hahn
Catherine Flynn

Laura Shovan is hosting the Poetry Friday Roundup this week at her blog.

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My OLW for 2023

I’ve been toying around with choosing One Little Word (OLW) for a while now. As best as my speedy, somewhat superficial Google search could find, this practice was started by Ali Edwards as a creative project. She wrote, “In 2006 I began a tradition of choosing one word for myself each January—a word to focus on, to live with, to investigate, to write about, to craft with, and to reflect upon as I go about my daily life.” This is a practice that’s always intrigued me, but I’ve only joined in twice before. This year, however, without any conscious intention, I found myself contemplating potential word candidates early in December. Apparently, I was once again drawn to the idea of having a word as a sort of guide, or touchstone, to come back to again and again throughout the year.

Over the past weeks, I’ve considered a few words. At first I thought, “Hmmm….How about “Choose” for a OLW? That could be a good word.” And it could be. But then I remembered that “Choose” had been my word in 2016. Oops. I’m not sure exactly what that says about me, but my first thought was…stagnation.

Back to the drawing board.

I thought of “Grow” next. I liked the gardening connection and the idea of metaphorically tending the soil, pulling out weeds, nourishing new growth. I’d like to grow and push myself into new areas of challenge this year. Still, it felt a bit too passive and didn’t fully resonate. On multiple layers I also didn’t love the definition’s big emphasis on simply getting larger.

“Begin?” I considered that for a while. I liked the push toward starting something, toward moving forward. It felt simple but potentially powerful. Still, it didn’t feel quite right.

Then, another word came to me: “Cultivate.” It’s akin to grow, but implies more deliberate, active choice.

I repeated the word out loud several times. I liked that it was a verb. I even liked the way it felt in my mouth when I said it. I looked it up. (Sometimes a word has meanings that you haven’t considered, and I wanted to cover my bases.) With cultivate, there’s the obvious definition of preparing for and growing crops, but there’s a lot of interesting nuance, too. Merriam-Webster includes these definitions: “to foster the growth of”, “to improve by labor, care, or study : refine”, and to “further or encourage.” The Cambridge Dictionary includes “to try to develop and improve something” and “to create a new condition by directed effort”.

I can think of so many things I want to cultivate within myself and within my immediate environment–relationships, curiosity, creativity, gratitude, a growth mindset, and on and on and on. It feels like a good fit. It combines aspects of choice, grow and begin in one dynamic and purposeful word.

So, there it is. I’m in. I’m tilling the soil and planting the fertilizer. My OLW for 2023: Cultivate.

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PF: Cascade Poem

The Poetry Princesses invited others to join in the fun this month and tackle cascade poems. I was immediately drawn by the name of the form and then intrigued by the mix of structure and freedom within it. Robert Lee Brewer succinctly describes it thus: “For the cascade poem, a poet takes each line from the first stanza of a poem and makes those the final lines of each stanza afterward. Beyond that, there are no additional rules for rhyming, meter, etc.” Here’s my cascade poem:

As Fall Turns to Winter

Outside the snow keeps falling
but our fire burns bright
even as the world disappears

We stand by the windows
joined by our pale reflections
Outside the snow keeps falling

We’re quieter these days
tender and bruised, a bit sadder
but our fire burns bright

We watch as our reflections
reach out, hold hands, hold on
even as the world disappears.

©Molly Hogan

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Jan Annino at her blog. She’s sharing poetry and gardening wonders from Sharon Lovejoy.