So it goes, a picture is worth a thousand words. I often dismiss this maxim. A thousand words written by a talented writer may easily surpass an image. A thousand words rumbling around in my brain, disambiguating, can reveal a depth of truth deeper than any image. For me, word trumps image. I’ve stubbornly dug my heels into the dirt: words win.
Grief possesses an incredible ability to sharpen and obfuscate thought. One moment the world is seen with perfect clarity while the following moment the griever can feel untethered and rapidly losing any mooring in this world. Writing about grief becomes paradoxically easy and difficult. The ease stems from the manner in which words effortlessly fill the page. The difficulty arises with the realization that no amount of words will ever draw close enough to an adequate description. I am grateful for writers who have attempted to make sense of their unique grief.
Spring, despite being my favorite season, has it kind of tough. For one, we expect the weather to be perfect all the time. But more difficult than high weather expectations, spring has a reputation for being a time of new beginnings and big changes. Sometimes spring just can’t handle the pressure and we’re forced to hit the road in search of our own opportunity and adventure.
As someone who has been forced to read poems in archaic English and the dreaded (to me) concrete poem, I understand that reading poetry can be
difficult. However, a friend of mine recently described poetry as "word magic" and I happen to think he's got a point. In fact, in writing this post I spend a chunk of the afternoon reading poetry and have been absolutelyswooning over life. Poetry can do it all! Fit any mood! Express any feeling! Take you to any location! Check this out.