Pre-poetry micro-challenge: Update (or: Day-what?)

                                                       

It's become obvious to me (and maybe to you, if you've noted the paucity of posts in the past weeks) that the quotidian scheduling of this challenge is incompatible with my new school-year schedule.


At first I was sad, figuring I would eventually just sort of "time out" and abandon the challenge. However, in keeping with many new ways of thinking that seem to have stolen over me over the past two or so months, I realized that just because I wasn't keeping up with it as I'd originally hoped, didn't mean I had to abandon the project entirely or start over in order to maintain the illusion that everything I do is perfect if I do it at all. After all, I could see that I was actually getting something out of it. Turns out this "forming a habit of forming habits" thing is actually where I needed to start. (Talk about "starting from where you're at". Who knew applying teaching methodology to myself could effect measurable results?)



The new idea is that I will simply attenuate the timing deliberately, so that I don't need to worry about fulfilling this challenge every day. After all, it's not supposed to be a strain or a frustration. The "challenge" of this micro-challenge is in the doing, not in the finding time to do.

Therefore, the new goal, in keeping with the busy school-week schedule and busy evenings keeping house and spending time with family and friends and (trying not to spend all my time) planning for school, will be a picture-word packet once a week, which I've so far managed.

Here's this week's:

When seasons collide, the best things happen. Morning frost limns bloodred maples in shining rime. A tree full of Canadian flags rustle, pend in the wind. They wait their turn to leap into the unknown, ripe for hands to pick, feet to stomp, crayons to rub, practised fingers to arrange. What could be more heartening food for the soul than the brilliant splash of colour, roaring a challenge to frigid despair, yet grinning welcome to the promised death and renaissance of winter to come.

And last week's: 

Gilt butterflies, goldleaf petals whisked on wind and sunshine, enticed up and upward to the light, light and ethereal, golden moths to a shining flame. Aphrodite wishes, a sure thing, never tarnished, never perishing, good as gold, word is bond.