a LITTLE ILLUMINATION

When something—like, say, a tree in the garden—catches the light just right, I often gasp, “Oh, it’s that tree’s time of day!” Sometimes illumination seems to happen magically.

And sometimes, as in my writing or any artist’s creative practice, it doesn’t. Then creativity can really feel like a discipline, the work that we must diligently return to, whether or not fruits appear to be developing.

In addition to continuing to return daily to the page, sometimes it can also be helpful to change scenery or medium, as in the following poem. For me, close attention to detail often recalibrates my brain, freshening my perspective. Even rearranging something beautiful in my home, like a bowl of seashells, can get me out of my head and back into my playful imagination.

My Recipes for Magic

My recipes for magic
pass on eye of newt
and tongue of frog,
preferring a chance encounter
with the whole creature

or a delightfully surprising
thunderstorm. Sunlight on dew
on still-curled leaves,
buckeyes bursting
from their cases,

the heavy acorn-hail
of a fruitful year.
I make altars with seashells,
dried eucalyptus,
and a found owl feather

on a wax-bedripped cloth,
candles and handmade
goddesses nestled in the folds.
Mine is magic
at the heart of wonder.