This poem rattled around in my mind and body for the last few days. I did not write it out in rough form, so this is it.
To read a poem;
That is to breath in the world,
Meditating on that world
(Re)membering a fleeting moment–
A moment my whole body experienced;
The smell of pine forest
The distant white-topped mountain
Rocks disturbing a river’s flows
The touch of a gentle breeze,
Cooling a sun-burnt face.
To write a poem;
Breathing out,
A lived-experience,
Giving words to a fleeting moment–
Flowers gesturing towards mountains,
Trees caressed by mountain wind,
Nature’s fragrances arise from the valley
A silence encroaching upon my mediation.
ivonprefontaine
Teacher as Transformer 