I am a big fan of impulsive acts of creativity. The poem below is a freewrite. I set the timer to 5 minutes and just sat there and allowed the words to spill on to the page. It's a thank you poem to my flatmate and reading it you will probably gather why. It's so easy to get overtaken with ideas of perfection and what a finished piece of work looks like. I think it's a good idea to stray away from that occasionally and, like the juice in the piece below, acquaint ourselves with the raw.
A Necessary Season
Is it a cliche to talk about how this autumn wind makes the leaves and branches dance ?
I watch the seduction, and see them swoon when being kissed so gently.
It's the time of year for the yellowing of leaves, for falling down. I remember last night's silver handshake moon - a harvest.
At the kitchen table we drank carrot and sweet potato juice warmed with root ginger and cardamon. You looked at me in that practiced way of yours, as I took another sip of September and tasted how not quite sweet it was.
We'd finally cracked a perfect taste. I smiled. But your mind was on other things. 'Let's face it - you know when someone loves you.' Earlier you had held me so close I no longer needed to cry for help.
But even this is a fiction. You told me the story of love long before my tears and we drank our juice some time between my guttural release and you holding me.
The order does not matter. What I tasted was the beginnings of a friendship and how the trees need a little push to nudge them from summer and in to this necessary season.