Today’s shot comes from my father’s camera. He emails me around two or three almost every morning with shots from the day before. His words are sparse. What he has to say about this? Upstream from Black Eagle. I know exactly what he means.
In this way, poetry is all around me. And when I say me, I include you, too. We have only to listen to the way we speak. (And then jot it down on a scrap of paper before we lose the beat.)
Yesterday I called the roofer who has yet to reshingle my roof from the tornado incident we experienced in June. I listened to his wife flip through schedules and work orders, looking for detail regarding my house. Oh, you are the triple tear-off. Since then, I’ve been thinking about what that means. When I look in the mirror, I wonder if others see what she saw in me.
It’s not always just about the cadence in our words — our words can also reveal what we see when we look. My sister and her husband have some of their straw for their sheep farm stored on another man’s land. Where would these straw bales be? Underneath the main power line where you look toward the Birdhead country…you know, through the chicken wire gate.