“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” — Howard Thurman
With pencil and tablet, I walk out to the pasture
around grandma’s house
keeping an eye open for cows and stickers.
The shade of a lone cedar calls my name — I settle into the snuggly grass
to write words.
A distant memory reminds me why words continue to swirl, speech bubbles of ideas
looming overhead— words that challenge, cajole, caress, comfort.
You ask, “What makes me come alive?”
The music of words, the words in music,
melodies and stories swarm
looking for a place to land.
In dreams, I go back to a peaceful pasture
listening to songs of birds I cannot see —
quiet moments, a sacred place
calling me back to the child
walking bravely with pencil and tablet
writing words that make her
. . .
Poems come out of wonder, not out of knowing. —Lucille Clifton