Days of Being: August 17

After reading poems from a new book by one of my favorite poets, I stopped, closed the book, and worked on one of my own poems. I wrote even though I wasn't a poet. I wrote even though my poem about trees and tree bones and holding on to things that weren't mine would probably only be seen by my husband and my best friend. I wrote even though I knew nothing about stanzas and rhythm and meter. I wrote because writing and words were water for my thirsty roots.

Days of Being is a micro-memoir project exploring memories and moments from every day of the year. Multiple years from my life are represented within the project celebrating what Madeleine L’Engle once said: “I am still every age that I have been.” Today’s micro-memoir is from one of my August 17s.