. Spinning .

Just a quirk that I spotted him, sitting on a post in the neighbor’s field.  Motionless for a mini second, then gliding away.  This, minutes after thinking hyperfiction and the hows of it in non-traditional form.  Funny, this non-traditional format becomes traditional in its own element of the computer; changes into non-traditional when implemented as a tool in the traditional form of a book. 

New things can teach how to manipulate the old.  Plots planned, choosing a certain set and forcing the discarding of the rest, need not be done in hyper- and interactive fiction.  We need to plan them all out to their end, braiding as we go. 

Back inside at the computer, looking up and away to sort the thoughts; I spot another hawk, pure white, made by Hummel-Goebel, bought decades ago for just this moment in time.

I take my lead from nature.  The answers are all there.  The trick, to understand them.

Anger, sadness, frustration, all threatening the joy of creation.  Standing on the mountain top, thinking I can fly.  Just thinking, not knowing, not caring to know if I can, or how far below lies the valley.

Long post planned, churning in my mind, answers to questions, more questions raised. 

And in the middle of it all, Charlie The Bachelor picks Sarah and I’m crying even though this is the first time I’ve watched the program.  Sometimes I think these shows are just an outlet for that which better lies under control of the mind.

Thank you N. for your kind words of support, there to pick me up and give me some confidence to do what I feel.  Honestly?  I thought my poetry was halfway decent, but am convinced that very few others feel so.   And thank you, Steve, for your practical, more pointed words–I’ve always trusted and read into your subtle advice.  We’ll talk, I suppose.

Poetry is more than pretty words and places.  I’ve used its elements to write better prose.  But maybe I’m missing the soul of the poet, and maybe I’ll never see the world as I could and would like. 

I need the night to think.

The hawk was there again this morning, still and grey and white and blending with the birch.  I reached for the binoculars though he was only thirty five yards away, and he was gone. 

Just a reminder, look for the unusual, what could happen instead of what usually does.  And another lesson he subtly teaches:  That which I seek is elusive, here and gone.  I must learn to watch for it, for him.