I have an internal narrator who “writes” my life out in my head sometimes. For a long time, I was ashamed of that voice – it sounded pretentious, a little unreal, making my life into a storybook. I tried to hush it – pretend it wasn’t there. But lately I’ve been listening again. And you know what I’ve discovered? The narrator is really a poet finding fine art in my real life.
With my camera, I try to photograph what the narrator describes, but I find only phrases, bits and pieces of life coming at me. So I try to write something stunning, but there aren’t enough phrases yet, not even for a poem.
I just have the feeling for now, and a sense that these phrases are a promise that I’ll see another dream come to life. When I grow up. When I’ve seen more than I have seen.
“I gobbled the sun…” – Speaking about the year after my postpartum depression.
“We sat quiet with each other, familiar, small – like two old ladies who had seen too much.” – My sister and I ate out together during my flight delay last weekend.
“Gold tangled in the tree branches…” – How I see the sunrise every morning here.
“She never saw me; she never knew I saw her.” – I met a Southern girl in the bookstore in the airport. She was all Georgia sweetness and insecurity, recommending book after book to me, never once really knowing I was there, or hearing that I spoke back to her.
“Autumn danced across the road. I reminded myself it was only August; I felt the year slipping away.” – The leaves were changing – falling – early in Virginia last week.
“Blue moon rising.” – I think this will be my book title. The story will be something about redemption, second chances, and the first summer I ever truly lived instead of suffering through. Maybe it will be about someone I know, instead of someone I want to be.
These treasures give me such shivering delight, like rolling over into full sun splashed across white down and memory. No matter how low I am on a given day, they help me remember what is in me, what glory I carry around inside this clay. They remind me to hope, and what I hope for, which isn’t really much at all – just life and finding it beautiful, no matter how I am.