Winged, Spun, and Stung

I'm linking up today with the Reflections of You blog and their weekly prompt "5 on Friday". The one good thing that comes of getting older is self-acceptance. After half a century on this planet, here are five conclusions I've come to:

1. I accept my quirkiness and am even happy with those things that set me apart.

2. I embrace my solitary, contemplative self and the fact that I'm completely content to find joy inside my words and colors.

3. I like my brain that constantly seeks poetic meanings in nature and every day moments.

4. I love that I see my everyday world with an artist's eye. My creativity is what fuels me on a daily basis, even if my feelings of inadequacy sometimes step in and stop me from acting on it. That's a work in progress...we never stop battling our insecurities.

5. My introversion is as much a part of me as my eye color, and I've discovered that this trait presents itself as firmly in the blog world as it does in real life. Attempting to run this blog in an extroverted way doesn't work and leaves me anxious and uncomfortable...I've realized how inauthentic it is and have happily come full circle to what I am: a quiet, unassuming blog introvert with a small circle of blog friends who are dear to me. What a relief it is to have this revelation, to sit with it and know that it's who I am and how I should conduct myself.

WINGED, SPUN, AND STUNG

I am jotting down little things
Winged, spun, and stung
Nestled things jarred free
Like a blown down sparrow's nest

I am the early owl, the naive fox,
The solemn flock of robins, the
Blackbird jauntily whistling

I am a light in the eye, like
The soul's firefly, flickering
In the dark of dusk's woods

I am a vibrant, fluttering
Kite against gray skies and
A kohl-smudged horizon

I am the rosy tint of sunrise
Highlighting the waking trees
Till they're italicized

I am memories scampering
Like a spooked and dappled fawn
Hiding in the blazing maples

I am the clouds that collide
Into majestic, steel mountains
Wearing their weight like armor

I am these words that come to me
And my heart rests in the glow of them
Like stars gazing into the lake
At their reflection.

© Sherri Brannon