Happy Saturday!

Yes, that means that after several sleep-in mornings this week, I am finally feeling like the energy is back in me bones.    Feel free to imagine me dancing around my living room to Come Get It Bae - because that definitely happened.

Today was a bit busy, as we had to finish chopping a tree down, and then go into town to get our Halloween costumes.  Conveniently located beside the Starbucks.

Pumpkin Spice Latte Count:  7

Don't shame me.  We all have our kinks.

So my Saturday evening aesthetic is thus:

while I sit and bemoan the actual lack of Photography Art that has been happening lately.   I got pictures.   But I don't have a lot of "Art" just yet.  

What I have a lot of is words.   Words a-plenty, dripping from every possible surface.  They are on paper, on my phone, some actually in a Word document waiting to come into the light.   Since most of them are inspired by actual photos I have taken, I say it's Art by Association.

For example, shots such as this one in the woods that got me feeling all some kind of way.

Left Brain had joined me for a super hike that day.   I wore my new hiking boots.... and those tight black yoga pants. 
Really, was this going to end any other way than with a steamy poem?
What can I say, the woods make me frisky.
Stop shaming me!   ;)

In the Glade 

we walked the over grown path to the shoreline
the one less taken
Caution: Poison Ivy!
so we tread lightly
around the wide sweeping humming marsh
and past the chickadee feeders
where they hung out of reach of chatty squirrels
all was wanting among the trees; the wilds and us
we conversed where the trail was easy
while silence filled the steeper terrain
the reds and golds our canopy and carpet
and all was peaceful within the glades
we reached the water’s edge - dipped our toes in the cool
a heron watched from it’s one legged perch
behind the fallen log
you passed the water bottle and our fingers grazed
a glance, an intake of breath – a thirst not quenched
a bead of sweat fell and caught
between my bosom valley
where your eyes held their gaze
the way was hard - but this breath is shallow
a longing not unlike a climb
we two standing on the water’s edge
with a forest of fire at our backs
and a trail of lust laid out between
and no time to cross the divide:
as voices carry around the bend
two forks too chose from -
and they had to take the less traveled too.


Okay, to be clear though the mood might strike, and tell me that does not look like such a romantic spot:  I would NOT!  
I mean, honestly -- I didn't even have a picnic basket or blanket with me. 
Also, there's still bugs flying about and that's a bigger mood killer than unsuspected fellow hikers. 

That's the great thing about Art, and why I am a Poet:  the things I write don't have to necessarily be true.  Or come true.   Like our host stated:   every day is another new opportunity.   Some days I create.  Some days I just let inspiration soak into the fiber of my being.

As long as my imagination gets out for a good walk in the fresh air every now and then -- that is the Art of Living. 

Link up Your Art!