The doors of the Hilton opened to the street and out I went into the slight bustle of traffic with a tinge of Jack and Coke resting on my mind. Sun shone off the tan bricks as it set, warming everything around me. It was a beautiful day. It wasn't even Spring yet. It was the end of my first full week as a Scranton resident.
It's a new beginning.
Walking along the street, I felt peaceful. I didn't even know I was smiling until I stopped to look at the light filtering through the buildings between Adams and Washington before casting an array of warmth over the courthouse.
It's amazing what a change of scenery can do for the mind. How the longer days filled with sun and brilliance can lift you up. For too long, I've felt burdened. Burdened by stresses, some I brought on myself, and unhappiness with my situation. Now that I've taken the time to change it and get serious about turning new corners and opening new doors, I've never felt better.
My inspiration to write had been lacking. My inspiration to do anything had been lacking. Maybe the change of season has a lot to do with it, but I cannot deny how the other changes have turned things around for me. I feel energized. I feel lighter.
I feel...excited.
Though I'm still settling in and the search for a new job continues, I already feel at home.
It feels good to be home.
In the world.
In myself.
 |
| Property of Dale R Wilsey Jr. |
It's raining. Again. Nineteen of the past 23 days have been full of rain and ugly weather. April showers bring May flowers, but this is a bit ridiculous. Flowers are blooming already. How about we calm down the waterworks, nature? I'd like to get outside and enjoy my days sometime soon.
It's not that I don't enjoy the rain. But I've spent enough time indoors for now and I've felt stifled. It's hard to write sitting inside. What I crave is a walk through the woods. A hike to the top of the mountain to gaze out over the valley and watch the Susquehanna wind its way through town.
Maybe a trip to Rickett's Glen or a cruise out to the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon on the bike. Set up camp. Spark a fire and sit roasting my meal over an open flame. Sometimes, I believe I would have been more at home in this world when the major mode of transportation was fueled by grains, hay and the occasional sip from a trickling stream or still pond.
I haven't ridden in years, though. How would I take to sitting my ass back in a saddle after all this time? Maybe it's like riding a bike. Maybe you never forget. Just like jumping onto my motorcycle and firing it up for the first time after a long winter. A few moments and everything is the way it should be. At least I'd be able to ride a horse through the winter. I can only imagine how beautiful a ride through the hills would be as the snow drifted down among the pines and speckled the stallion's mane.
And here I sit. Rambling on as thoughts come drifting through my head. Daydreams. Images and ideas. Products of another rainy day stuck inside. Here I thought the words wouldn't come as easily. I know they're always there. I've just got to open the door more often.
Let the rain come in through the screen in my window. Walk outside. Let it wash down over me. Warm, summer rains. Those are the kinds of rains you can enjoy. Listen to the thunder rumble off over the hills as it splatters the pavement in with its soothing, white noise.
The first ride
-----
Dust-covered chrome,
a lazy blanket remains
from a Winter's rest.
Two hours, patience,
two bottles and a cut-up
t-shirt.
Stubborn to wake.
Starved for pulses of
electricity.
Force-fed juice from
gasoline-guzzling,
steel-cranking mass.
Roars to rumbling life.
Breathe in Spring day
and kiss with flame.
Cowhide jacket, gloved
hands gripping.
Cradled in saddle.
Grab reins and
twist spurs.
Twin horses gallop.
Snaking road along
muddy river gorged
on mountain springs.
Wind comes rushing
with double-yellow
veins on asphalt.
Taste of sun and
bursting life, waking
to the thaw.
Echoes of throaty roar
bouncing from rock-face
through valley.
Taking in, with every
mile, forgotten, roaming
freedom of cowhands.
Journeys of travellers
seeking new sights.
Expanses of life.
Mile after mile,
along a wandering path.
Riding on.
----
April is National Poetry month. You've probably been made aware of this by hundreds of other blog postings and Facebook updates containing snippets torn from Shakespeare, Poe, Angelou and Frost (I had enough of that through winter). Not surprising since setting aside a single month dedicated to poetry caters mostly to those who, in their daily life, think little, if not nothing, about poetry. To save you the trouble of being bludgeoned with the same spiel from another writer who will tell you that every month, day and hour is somehow related to poetry (and writing as a whole), I'll end my rant now.
The warm weather has finally set in and the above piece was inspired by my first ride of the year. It's always an incredible feeling to jump on the bike and head on down the road, but that first ride after a long, cold and miserable winter is always a bit more special.
Today, the
Young American Poets blog published one of my pieces entitled "Heart in a foxhole". You can read it
here. The YAP blog publishes work from American poets born in 1972 and later. There are some great writers being showcased over there so, after you finish reading my piece, browse around. There should be something there for everyone. Also, check out their sister site,
Young British Poets.
