Musing

today’s Musing written and published from south Calgary, near Fish Creek Park

walk report: -3C/26F, clear, calm; a full moon hung on in the west, like a picture askew on a wall waiting to be taken down as first light lifted the east horizon to our view; Gusta spent an hour trying to sever my left rotator cuff while I acted as a stumbling anchor on our first really long walk in weeks, all we saw is drab but anticipating change, in need of a cold spring shower

winter marches to an end in search of its enchanted April so that May will follow, as spring shades winter’s grime away– drabness of reality aside - I see brightness, light and sizzle for what they might compose – new season’s sinewy muscles wrestling, wildly abandoning a grimy winter palate, aching to romp between sheets of rain when it comes – carnal and raw

“Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt.” – William Shakespeare

working for dough took on new meaning; a Challah recipe on cooks.com and U-tube tutorial on 6-strand braiding were my inspiration, ingredients at hand, spatulas and bowls were simply accessories; working dough is for the hands, dough is a live thing in knead of form, I kneaded it yesterday; first loaf (all 3 dogs liked it) was tasty but under-baked and doughy while the second loaf is firm, its rich darker color looks great – it rests in anticipation of being spread apart and devoured at dinner this evening

not too late I suppose to be student of this craft – or maybe I’m doing OK without the confines of ‘how things should be done’ - art of prose, mechanics of poetry, learning of form, scholarship of literature – have not eluded me as much as I avoided them – not that I steered away, I was never steered toward it; like yeast laden dough I am a live thing, in search of new form, addictively drinking creative juice I crave from life’s fruit

I wasn’t steered at all; not pointed – maybe there is value in that, to go in many directions without a map, without purpose – in time, finding a way, finding a purpose, like water, sugar and flour find their way into dough, put together – then taken apart in lumps to be shaped into a new form for baking; along the path, something alive and rising, time to knead like bread when needed, punching it down, letting it rise up and then forming it carefully before baking

creativity, like dough, is a living thing; notes on paper, notations on screen, on paper or floating in head swirl – eddy-like for me, the same water in and out, forth and back again – juicy mess massaged and made whole or splashed spectacularly on this canvas, a loaf made of life slices

Mark Kolke
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... with your voice, teach in order to learn

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