Sunday, may 13, 2012

The other day, I read an essay by Laurell K. Hamilton where she attempted to answer readers’ queries about why she writes, what compels her to do so and from where her inspiration stems.  I read that essay with a growing smile, for many of the reasons she cited for writing mirrored my own.  Certainly what drives her and how, unlike what many believe, we writers are not in control of what we scribe—not really.  For once an idea has materialized, no matter how insignificant it may seem, it won’t be ignored, instead, needing life breathed into it through the author’s keyboard or pen.

Later that same day, I sat at a friend’s, gazing out the window, as I’m apt to do.  There was a breeze blowing.  Not a huge one but one significant enough to blow around vegetation and push against closed windows.  Several palm trees caught my focus—one in particular.  I watched with fascination as the wind had its way with its fronds. 

They weren’t pushed hard in one direction, as is oft the case.  No.  Instead, the writer in me became fascinated with what played out before me as I attempted to write a description of it in my mind, one that would allow others, should they ever be privy, to understand just what I’d seen.  Here’s what my writer’s mind scribed.

The tips of the fronds danced in the wind, taking on the appearance of a sea urchin’s tentacles.  The effect was both fascinating and mesmerizing.  Never before had I seen the top of a palm tree transformed as such.  The breeze, which caught those fronds, didn’t push them all in one direction as depicted on postcards of tropical paradises.  No.  What I saw was the wind tickling those fronds, inspiring them to dance to the gentle “music” her zephyr played out.

At some point during my observation-inspired mental writing, I found myself wondering over the author in me.  Do others view the world as I do?  Attempt to make sense of it by writing explanations or descriptions of what they view?  I disengaged my analytical brain and allowed my creative one to take over, my gaze again returning to the dancing palm fronds. 

The breeze blew a short while longer, the corners of my mouth curling into a satisfied smile, as I watched that palm “sea urchin” dance to the tune of the breeze.  When the wind stopped, I was again surprised by what I saw.

While the breeze blew, the trunk of the palm tree had remained perfectly still.  But the moment the wind ceased, the top of that palm began swaying to and fro enough to cause its trunk to bow and arc in response. 

Fascinating!

I watched my once sea urchin palm be transformed into a giant living metronome.  I couldn’t have been more hypnotized by its back-and-forth swing than if a magician had been dangling a shiny pocket watch before my eyes.

Funny…the things we see.  How our mind’s eye plays with us.  Or does it?  Do others see what I do?  Or would they have merely glanced at the palm, blowing in the wind, never giving it a second thought, where I found myself captivated?