Sometimes I send an email and I get my own words sent back in a new shape:
Re:Thinking Out Loud
Today has been almost enough to write a poem about.
By which I mean that today has been filled with many quiet moments,
Where the only sounds come from the ocean
And all that is left for me is to be still and enjoy.
I could list a host of small things whose details would help me craft something tinged with ordinary beauty–
All the lovely bits of life that I prefer to use as the adjectives for my emotions.
Perhaps if I had more on my heart or mind I could conjure up a poem,
Because I had all the space in the world to think through one today.
But instead there is nothing.
Maybe my mind will stir together something
Tonight, while I’m waiting to fall asleep.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining.
I like quiet and I like not having a swirl of thoughts or emotions that desperately need to be communicated, somehow.
It’s peaceful in a way that I don’t often find peace.
I suppose that’s my own fault for always overthinking everything.
You are unfortunately the automatic recipient
Of my need to put words onto paper.
I feel this haze of things that could be something worthwhile,
But they aren’t collecting together properly.
I’d like to write about the waves and the sand;
Or how I think I felt God closer in the short prayers I made during my run this morning
Than in the multitude of prayers I make every day at home.
I’d like to say more about how I saw beauty in the splashes my feet made as I trailed through the waves,
But all those thoughts in themselves aren’t enough to write anything coherent just yet.