On writing...

Writing used to be a hobby of mine. One that brought much creativity and joy to my life. Over the past couple of years my pen has barely scratched a piece of paper with letters of meaning. I have come to a point in my life where I am not quite sure where my joys lie, besides in Christ.

I have had many hobbies over the years, writing, sewing, a brief stint of knitting, acting, backstage hand, piano...the list goes on. While many of these I have enjoyed and proved to be quite good at I wasn't passionate about any of them. In an endeavor to find a passion, I have begun reading my writings of old. Some of them make me jerk back in disgust thinking, "what was I thinking when I wrote that?" while others bring back fond memories of sitting on the front porch with paper and pen in hand, the breeze gently brushing my face.

Here is one of those writings, written during a Creative Writing class at Coastal Carolina University. I don't remember what prompted this piece but I do remember reading it in front of the class, feeling proud and accomplished. It is untitled, written in 2007.

And they come and go like seasons,
Coming in and out, changing the way
Life is viewed and decisions are made.
People.

And you, bright tranquility that
Contains me in rain showers and mud puddles,
Splashing in endless new life and bliss.
Spring.

And raging forth in the sun,
You dance along the aqua coast,
Beckoning me to follow the lines of salt.
Summer.

And the tragic beauty of browns and red,
Leave you bare and naked,
Taking your dignity and hope
Fall.

And on the brink of freezing,
You lie on the cold hard earth,
Frozen, staring into the black.
Winter

Yet who are you? Season of mine,
that breaks between the saltiness of summer
and death of winter. You are middle ground
and I say to you: pass me by; leave me here.

On this sandy shore to mock
the seagulls that land and stay.Never migrating though the cold is near.

 

 



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