Driftwood

I wanted to be an artist.

Artists make entirely new things.

Things people enjoy for the things themselves.

Things that are intended to be used, but not used up.

Too many parts of life – things, moments, relationships – get used up.

I drew, colored and painted every spare moment, but art would not come.

There I am, sitting in a summer day camp class after fourth grade.

A woman is showing us how to make art out of driftwood.

Where we lived, driftwood was everywhere.

This was art, but not entirely new.

In fact, it was very, very old.

I still remember the smell and feel of it.

Driftwood taken from a timeless beach on the edge of forever.

You mix in other things pass by without noticing, and make beauty.

Not the beauty of perfection, but the glorious beauty of the commonplace.

There is a joy in simply noticing and taking in our surroundings.

Surroundings that simultaneously take us in, as well.

To both make, and be made, in the same moment.

To know that we are where life placed us.

Both artist and work of art.

Living tree and driftwood.

You want to be an artist.

You are.

A Song of Generations

People I’ve known …

A Daily Prompt Poem

= = = = =

People I’ve known, throughout the country
People of every description and creed
Young and old, all colors, all dispositions, all backgrounds
Men, women, boys, girls, short, tall, thin, heavy

Those whose wrinkles tell more stories than I could ever post on this blog
Those so young that the very act of seeing is a new experience
Those who express themselves in gesture, in word, in movement, in action
Those who could not express themselves: the tired, the sick, the indigent
All of those who make up what life is
Who make this country what it is

I have also seen the charlatans, the hucksters, the con artists
I have seen the scavengers, the vultures, those that prey upon the old and weak
I have seen that these people cross all divides
They come in all colors, all parties, all economic classes, all professed creeds
Including the creed of not professing a creed

The oldest fought
For what the old have built
That those of saving age, support
That those in working ages seek to improve
That the young dream of reshaping
That the child and infant motivate us to reach for

Across the generations
One voice
Different views
One humanity
Divergent tastes
One nation
Shared responsibility
Individual freedom
Generations linked together

One symphony
Composed of
Many many songs

Out
Of
Many
One