LGP- Texts & Treks 2023

      For my last blog post of the semester, I thought it would be appropriate to reflect on the Mary Oliver discussions we had in class this week and what I took away from some of my peers selections of poems. One of the first things that stuck out to me was the different approaches that people took when choosing their poem. Some focused on the subject, others the language, others the themes, and others still the beauty of the mental picture that was painted. I personally took the approach of focusing on the subject, as the poem that I chose was "Fall". Although not included in the blue or white book (haha!), the poem struck me with its personification and the beauty with which it depicted my favorite season. I throughly enjoyed both Sheridan and Autumn Rae's poems, as well as their subsequent presentation, particularly due to the fact that both of the girls added an emotional, personal tie in to the poem. I think with the amount of readings and activities we have done f...

      This year for Thanksgiving break I was lucky enough to go home and catch one more glimpse of a beautiful Arkansas fall. As I talked about in my Mary Oliver presentation, fall in Arkansas is special to me because of its beauty, but also because of the memories it holds over the course of my childhood. Getting to see the leaves continue to change was incredibly special and there was an added layer to this trip- getting to walk through Burns Park. My family and I love to take my dog, Vail, out to a beautiful trail near where my dad works, complete with open fields where she can run off leash and chase deer, while my family and I rode avid bikers on the trails. My favorite part of the trail is that it connects to Burns Park, which houses the soccer fields that I grew up practicing and playing tournaments on. Because of flooding during the spring following a horrific tornado, the fields have been closed all summer and fall. However, on Thanksgiving morning, with no one e...

 

      I've only ever lived in warm places. Really hot places is the more appropriate term for what they are. And while the warmth has its perks, it makes the winter all the more magical. I think God has a special recipe for winter in the South. Because we are not often afforded the luxury of snow, the winter bites and snarls its teeth, chilling me to a spot so deep in my bones I din't even know it was there. But once a year, every year it seems, save for a few times when God forgot, he sends the first snow. It is peace embodied. There is something in the air that changes. You can smell it coming, as Lorelei Gilmore would say. Time moves slower and life pauses for just a moment. There is a stillness, and then it comes. In blanket it falls, or flakes at a time, but the magic is there all the same. I do not often get nostalgic or sentimental, but the snow stirs something in me that is hard to explain. Most snow storms, I weep. Not for any particular reason, other than that i...

      I really enjoyed reading this Mary Oliver poem. I came across it just by happen stance, as I flipped through the pages and founding myself stopping to read slowly in a section focused on mornings. Morning is definitely my favorite time of day, although I am privy to sleeping in occasionally. But most often, I enjoy waking up before or with the sun to enjoy the slowness and the stillness. The world sometimes feels groggy as I sip coffee on my porch and watch the sun rise, or as I lug my Bible into my lap for a moment of quiet and solitude. I find that I am most attentive to nature in the early day, perhaps because the distractions of the day, the noise, the hustle, and the bustle, have not yet awoken. While they sleep, I can breathe. I hear the birds singing a little louder, I notice the wind rushing through the trees with a bit more purpose. On a hot summer day, the mornings of slightly cooler weather feel like a gift for only those willing to arise and feel it. In ...

 How apt it is for Mary Oliver to have written one of my favorite poems in October- a special month of the year for me. As a child, October's were filled with freezing Friday night football games and too hot cups of hot chocolate, flipping through magazines to pick the perfect Halloween costume, celebrating my sister and I's birthdays with decorations and laughs, soccer games with dew still afoot, and plenty of leaf piles. Autumn, or fall, whichever you prefer, sings of nostalgia for me. It's a place that feels safe and comfortable, and I cherish it each year because it feels like coming home and becoming young again. I recognize this juxtaposes itself with the notion that things actually age and die in the fall, but it has never mattered much to me. In my opinion, fall is growth in its own way- shedding the things of old and donning the new barren branches, that will one day sprout new buds again. I think Mary Oliver would agree in that it is growth in its own way- as she ...