My writing begins where it will. This morning I was in my living room chair reading the Sunday paper when the neighborhood geese flew overhead. A haiku began to unwind in my mind. I reached for a notepad and pen in the end table drawer and jotted down the first two lines, then sketched out a few more. Later I will give the haiku its final form on my desktop computer .
Last winter I had a dialogue with the early dawn sky and its amazing pink stripes. Every morning I found a new image I used to describe the stripes. Sometimes the image came to me as I ate breakfast facing the window. I would tear off a scrap of paper from the daily news and write down the thought before it drifted away. A compelling first line was all it took for a haiku to grow.
Writing about my travels or family stories happens another way. I have boxes filled with travel itineraries, notes and pictures of the places I’ve been stored in freezer-sized Ziploc bags. I love to revisit a trip and re-live it in my mind’s eye. Writing brings up more memories. Family stories come to mind from pictures and letters stored in boxes and from objects that have accompanied me whenever I moved. I also write about my family in the present. The actual stories take shape as I write on my computer – sometimes prose and sometimes poetry.
The objects in the room where I write are visible reminders of my journey. By the window there is a child’s desk that belonged to one of my sons. A futon and a lamp occupied my computer room in the last place I lived. A maple chair from my first house after I was married sits in the corner. The drop-leaf table that matches it is in my kitchen. My Diplomas are on the wall. A picture of a cowboy riding his horse on the winding road of Texas ranch, which was a wedding present to my parents, hangs over the futon. My father was from Texas. There is a wooden wall clock in the shape of Ohio, where I now live, that ticks as I type. On the window ledge is a large coffee mug with the name of the college I attended. My computer, glass computer table, office chair, printer and the table it sits on are newcomers. Four green house plants are my living companions.
poetrybyheart.me 
Beautiful and simply honest. And here’s to the good company of your house plants. I grew up in Ohio!
My houseplants and I thank you for your comment. Over all I’ve lived in Ohio longer than any other state.
Sounds like you’re living and/or reliving the best of all the worlds and lives you’ve lived. Truly one of the benefits of aging, and being able to look back with a bit of a filter, in my book!
Yes. I never would have imagined having a new world of writing and friends even as I age. I’m changing as are my sons and grandchildren in the natural order of things.