It’s the 8th day of the New Year and I’m behind. Behind in responding to comments. Behind in writing blog posts. Behind in reading blog posts. My Christmas decorations are still happily shining and my sink is full of dishes.
I share this because there’s a tendency this time of year to feel like you have to hit the ground running. January has to be YOUR month to get all the things done and to set into motion all the ways you wish to make your life better. It’s all a lie. Like so many untruths we tell ourselves, it’s just another example of perfectionism making us miserable.
Don’t let it.
I’ve chosen Movement as my word of the year. Any forward momentum toward my goals will be considered a success. No, I’ve not done much blogging, but I did take a trip to Tahoe and my photography heart got to dance in the snow. No, I’ve not done much cleaning of my house, but I’ve written a poem and short story in my journal every day this year so far. Movement. Like water over stones. It all matters.
If you’ve been around here a minute, you’ll know I have a deep love for David Bowie. Today would be his 77th birthday and last night I dreamed I was in his Lazarus music video. I was under the bed reaching my hand out to him. I woke and wrote this poem and a small flash fiction in his honor. I hope you enjoy them. They aren’t what I had planned to post but I’m learning to let my creativity go where it wants to.
Movement.
Flying
shadow fingertips
touch feather blankets
flutter free
like bluebirds racing sunlight
like bare branches in a breeze
like tomorrows that don’t come
it’s just like you to leave us
quick as lightning
moonman mornings
starlight singings
fly free toward me
One who moves
I don’t want him to call me his bluebird one last time, although he does it anyway in a raspy voice I barely recognize. It matters to him, but I refuse sentimentality. I suppose it’s my way of fighting back. I know he understands.
“Time loops around,” I whisper when his heart stops.
Someone screams. Someone else runs to tell the people waiting on the mountain. Or maybe nobody is here at all except me. I wipe his eyes with the damp hem of my dress. I clean his face of tears, but the ones on my face are dry now.
He’s not gone, I yell to those wailing and screaming, but maybe the certainty he gave me at the end was only for me. He was fond of parting gifts. A lifetime of moon whispering, hip swaying, star gazing, and half-smiles don’t disappear. Not fully.
He’s writing everything down in a notebook beside the river while I wade up to my knees in the cool lapping water. Geese loudly scream out for attention, but I don’t take my eyes off his pen. Rocks beneath my toes are covered in slimy moss and they sing to me. The sky above is as blue as his right eye, maybe not even as blue as that. Clouds find a way to shift. Moving toward him, like we all do. Like I want to do right now.
Our years have now become days. We change nothing. We do nothing different. For certainty and love requires surrender to the forces of nature. A deer walks into the water and stands near me drinking loudly. Its side constricts and contracts—a life that does not care who we are because we are just like it. One who drinks. One who moves. One who watches the sky and feels the earth.
The pen stops and he looks at me over his notebook and perhaps he’s smiling. I can’t tell because the sun has burst through the dancing clouds and turned him into a being a light. “Free,” I think I hear him say, and just like the bluebird he takes flight. His wings sound like music.
*All photos were taken and edited by me.
Very beautiful words and photos, Bridgette. I was shocked when David Bowie passed too, his music has always been a part of my life.
You are so kind, John. Thank you. I continue to miss him and think of him daily.
❤️😊
Ever so wonderful in words and photos Bridgette. Maybe take this year a bit slower and listen to more music, dance and be free 🥰
That’s wonderful advice! I absolutely want to dance more this year. Movement in all ways. Yes!
Don’t know the sequence, image to words. Don’t care. The threads between them, the first and last especially, are more intense than merely strong. Magnetic. That would be a good word here. Attracting.
That first and poem, yes, where we fly is between earth and moon. Exactly precisely that, literal, figurative. Yea, brilliant observation
That last picture and story, my lord Bridgette, you did a beautiful thing showing and saying. You caught my breath with that photo alone. That is what flight looks like and where it comes from. You have a gift for story Bridgette.
Thank you.
Thank you so much Neil for seeing this as I wanted it to be seen—as a sequence of photos and words. I’ve shared a few of those photos before but they just fit here again. They wanted to be paired together.
I think the short writing piece is about saying goodbye to everyone I’ve lost, not just Bowie. How wonderful it is to image our souls taking flight.
God this was beautiful. You make me want to be a better writer.
What a kind thing to say. Thank you, Nicole. Your writing is brave and bold. I always love reading your poetry.
Quite lovely, Bridgette. Thanks for the share.
Thank you for the kindness.
Excellent photography. Wonderful Bowie Bluebird, I like these pic. Very nice words written in. I much like!
“shadow fingertips
touch feather blankets
flutter free
like bluebirds racing sunlight
like bare branches in a breeze
like tomorrows that don’t come
it’s just like you to leave us
quick as lightning
moonman mornings
starlight signings “!
The sun has burst through the dancing clouds and turned him into a being a light. “Free,” I think I hear him say, and just like the bluebird he takes flight. His wings sound like music! What great & really your think & written its! What lovely capture the last one pic. You have a lots of knowledge & experience. You are a great writer & photography! You always write new topic & New photography.
Thanks!
You are so kind. Thank you.
Very nice!
Is my word of the year allowed to be a whole phrase? Because I can’t figure out how to make “living ‘Seth Gilbert”s alternate reality in a way to make him proud” a word.
I’m going to tell you a secret—you are allowed to make up any rules you want! If Seth Gilbert inspires you, I say go for it.
I can make it an acronym. My word of the year is Lsgariawtmhp. (And Seth Gilbert is a fictional character, but based on a real person… I think I’ve explained to you what all this alternate reality stuff is about, right?)
I’m not sure you have.
I’ll continue this conversation when I’m not exhausted and brain dead 🙂
This was such an inspiring read, Bridgette! <3 Lovely tribute to Bowie & so true what you say about celebrating the small victories – 'Like water over stones. It all matters.' 😀 Beautifully written!
I’m so happy you enjoyed it, Tom. I’m really trying to take my own advice this year and put less restrictions on my creativity to see where it takes me. I’m excited to lean in and keep learning.
Absolutely – branching out into new genres is pretty daunting but still worthwhile. 🙂 Go for it, Queen B! <3 👑
Bridgette, A touching tribute to one of the greats, a heart that dreams is a heart that lives, it seeks out beauty and disguards malice, opening up worlds that are special to us. Let the bluebird take you under his wing and gently float into the year. Enjoy 2024 and let your imagination grow❤️
Oh, I love this! “Let the bluebird take you under his wing and gently float into the new year.” You’ve inspired me to print out my bluebird photo and write those words beneath it—fits so well with a year dedicated to movement. Thank you.
A compliment indeed on my behalf, I feel honoured if you have been inspired by my words,you have my blessings to quote and use anything I write❤️Thank you for your feedback 🙏
Lovely verse and wise reminders Bridgette. I’m with you on progress over perfection. To a year of movement and progress.
Thank you. I’m so glad it resonated with you and I look forward to seeing what you create this year.
Thanks.
The bluebird in the captioned photo is adorable 🙂
Thanks! I love taking photos of birds.
Indeed don’t let January get to you.
What can be done will be done. The rest? That’s what tomorrow is about, right?
Happy New Year
Always tomorrow! Thank you. Happy New Year 🎉
What does it mean when you see a bluebird?
Bluebird Meaning and Symbolism
Some believe the bluebird is a symbol of joy and hope; others, that good news will be arriving soon. Others still think that bluebirds represent a connection between the living and those who have passed away.
Synchronicity or just the Devine remaining anonymous? Happy New Year, Dear Friend.
I was wondering what it might mean, Penny. Thank you. It feels like it could be a little of all of those things coming together to guide me as the year begins. Happy New Year to you as well!
Good word for the year. I love the photos and the poem. My ‘word’ for the year is ‘letting go’. Happy New Year.
That’s a great intention for the year. It’s so important to learn how to not let things like control or expectations crash our happiness.
Amazing capture
Thank you
I love your reminder that even one step is still a step forward. Beautifully written, Bridgette! 💕💕💕
Thank you! I need to remind myself this today especially when I managed two whole paragraphs.
Absolutely beautiful
Thank you so much!
Wow, you are quite the photographer!
You are so kind. Thank you.
I like your blog/site