but close, if 10 ft. waves can be considered close. I've heard of 30ft-ers in the month of lake storms, but I'm guessing those waves and higher occur out at sea. But, I have heard of the 20-30s along the shore and in places like Whitefish Point (mmmm... whitefish) and farther east on the great lake.
Anyway, the wind was wicked in NE, or at least in Lincoln, late last week, and I enjoyed watching the squirrels surf the air with the branches of the silver maple out back. I was inside but wanted to be out: I love the wind and any adventurous weather. I was inside due to being, well, under the weather ... I so wanted to be out in the midst of it.
Fall is my favorite time of year perhaps followed by winter and/or summer, and then mud (although I think it's called spring here in NE and in places where April showers really do bring May flowers, i.e. places south of the 45th parallel). Fall is glorious, and though the weather here in Lincoln has been lovely (but where are the storms? bring on the storms!), I'm yearning for a fall in the Upnorth. I spent all of Autumn here in NE last year, up to Thanksgiving when I traveled back "home" where there was already 4-5 inches of snow on the ground (that soon melted and then fell again, melted and fell, until the whiteness stuck and spread and stayed until late April).
In our class discussions online (via Blackboard) there is a word that frequently pops up when discussing connection to place, to land, to community, and that word is nostalgia. And in no other season do I experience more nostalgia than in Autumn. Who doesn't? Aren't we reminded of the start of school, the harvest, the beginning of football season/end of baseball (that still happens in fall, right?) and the beginning of the holidays, which often means a return to "home" or a return to the "sense of home," whether there's travel involved or not.
Fall--depending on location--often means more snugly-warm-with-blanket-and-hot-cocoa-indoors time and making the inside more comfortable for those long sits in warmth. But fall for me means more time outdoors, running trails, biking tails, getting dizzy off all the colors and scents in the woods.
Fall is also supposed to be the time when we are at our creative peaks. I think this has something to do with the air and all those leaves and (decaying?) matter filling the air with change, with natural goodness. Everyone goes wonderfully crazy in the fall. People write whole novels in the month of November. I'd like to try that ... someday. But, I've decided to give myself a different challenge. Though I'm immersed in prose this semester (fiction, creative nf), I need to write more poems (I find this difficult without the constant nudge workshop provides), so this November I'm going to write 30 new poems, a poem a day. I might start before November. I should start now. I'll write a poem today, but this week I need to catch up on grading (being sick this past week has put me a bit behind schedule). So, one poem today, maybe another this week. After the 15th, I might start one every few days, but November 1st? It's a poem a day AND, depending on the amount of leaves falling, crinkling, turning to dust, depending on how much anthocyanin(?) is in the air, depending on how much Nitrogen translocation(?) is occurring (apparently, I need to learn more about Fall Leaf Color Phenomena), I might write that novel, too. It might have to be a graphic novel starring the quill-shooting porcupine, but it will be complete--have a full narrative arc. Maybe... That's just a maybe.
But the poems? Definitely. Positively. (Ok, maybe--a strong, definite maybe.)
Anyway, the wind was wicked in NE, or at least in Lincoln, late last week, and I enjoyed watching the squirrels surf the air with the branches of the silver maple out back. I was inside but wanted to be out: I love the wind and any adventurous weather. I was inside due to being, well, under the weather ... I so wanted to be out in the midst of it.
Fall is my favorite time of year perhaps followed by winter and/or summer, and then mud (although I think it's called spring here in NE and in places where April showers really do bring May flowers, i.e. places south of the 45th parallel). Fall is glorious, and though the weather here in Lincoln has been lovely (but where are the storms? bring on the storms!), I'm yearning for a fall in the Upnorth. I spent all of Autumn here in NE last year, up to Thanksgiving when I traveled back "home" where there was already 4-5 inches of snow on the ground (that soon melted and then fell again, melted and fell, until the whiteness stuck and spread and stayed until late April).
In our class discussions online (via Blackboard) there is a word that frequently pops up when discussing connection to place, to land, to community, and that word is nostalgia. And in no other season do I experience more nostalgia than in Autumn. Who doesn't? Aren't we reminded of the start of school, the harvest, the beginning of football season/end of baseball (that still happens in fall, right?) and the beginning of the holidays, which often means a return to "home" or a return to the "sense of home," whether there's travel involved or not.
Fall--depending on location--often means more snugly-warm-with-blanket-and-hot-cocoa-indoors time and making the inside more comfortable for those long sits in warmth. But fall for me means more time outdoors, running trails, biking tails, getting dizzy off all the colors and scents in the woods.
Fall is also supposed to be the time when we are at our creative peaks. I think this has something to do with the air and all those leaves and (decaying?) matter filling the air with change, with natural goodness. Everyone goes wonderfully crazy in the fall. People write whole novels in the month of November. I'd like to try that ... someday. But, I've decided to give myself a different challenge. Though I'm immersed in prose this semester (fiction, creative nf), I need to write more poems (I find this difficult without the constant nudge workshop provides), so this November I'm going to write 30 new poems, a poem a day. I might start before November. I should start now. I'll write a poem today, but this week I need to catch up on grading (being sick this past week has put me a bit behind schedule). So, one poem today, maybe another this week. After the 15th, I might start one every few days, but November 1st? It's a poem a day AND, depending on the amount of leaves falling, crinkling, turning to dust, depending on how much anthocyanin(?) is in the air, depending on how much Nitrogen translocation(?) is occurring (apparently, I need to learn more about Fall Leaf Color Phenomena), I might write that novel, too. It might have to be a graphic novel starring the quill-shooting porcupine, but it will be complete--have a full narrative arc. Maybe... That's just a maybe.
But the poems? Definitely. Positively. (Ok, maybe--a strong, definite maybe.)
2 comments:
Are you going to put poems on your blog? I hope so!
I probably won't post them here, but maybe on Bb? But you're not in my group! Ah well. I don't think the poems would all be considered "place-conscious," anyway, but maybe.
Are we supposed to keep updating these class blogs? I mean, I'll still update, but I might meander away from place-consciousness. Heck, I might meander from consciousness. Yeah, I don't know what that means.
My place-conscious realization of the day? I'm nowhere near a cranberry bog! That boggles my mind.
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