Small Town Seasons: A Sonnet

For this post I decided to revisit some writing work from college. The following is a sonnet I wrote for a creative writing course that covered fiction, poetry, and playwriting. Poetry is not my strong suit and I don’t enjoy reading or writing it. The segment of that course that focused on poetry is the only training I’ve had in the subject. I fumbled through it and, in the end, my professor agreed that poetry isn't my forte. That said, I think any writer can benefit from studying poetry. Studying and writing poetry, sonnets in particular, for that course taught me an important lesson in structure and simplicity. If I remember correctly this was the only poem I wrote that received positive feedback from my professor and reading it not only reminds me of those lessons, it also makes me smile.


A crystal sea of fresh water stretches

endlessly. Rumbling waves tumble one

over another; their tongues making etches

in the cool compact grains on shore. The sun

majestically warms her subjects who flip from

back to front like pancakes on a griddle.

Then they will swarm these small town streets like bums.

They’ll eat. They’ll shop. They’ll drink. They’ll dance. Little

by little, though, they will disappear. Behind

them they will leave only scraps of summer;

grains of sand mingling with snow drops. Kind

signs that read “Closed for Winter.” A shrinking number

of subjects stroll the streets. An icy zephyr

roars off the water, moving things like feathers.

Day at the Beach

I often write letters to people in my journals, letters I’ll never send and the recipient will never read. I recently came across the following letter that I wrote to a friend during a trip back to Michigan after my first summer in Vail. I still remember this day and how I felt when I wrote this.

October 21, 2005

Today, inspired by your creativity and tales of days spent combing the sand for treasures, I spent some time on the beach. I felt drawn to it by the crisp breeze blowing across the lake, by the sound of waves lapping at the shore and the gulls’ distant squawks. I sat in the cool beige sand in a spot surrounded by long dune grass, which sheltered me a bit from the chilly breeze and allowed me to fully reap the benefits of the sun’s warm rays. I watched sea gulls swoop down and spiral up into an endless blue sky and I was jealous of them.

I reviewed the events of our vacation thus far and thought about the summer, I recalled the most defining moments, and realized how I’ve changed and how I’m continuing to change. I thought about us and about possibilities. I daydreamed about the future.

I went for a walk along the water after a nap in the sun. Zebra mussel shells crunched beneath my feet as I walked; there were thousands of them washed up along the water’s edge. I bent down and examined a cluster of them and marveled at how even a pest such as this one is beautiful. It made me think about how there are many things in this world that are both incredibly beautiful and horrible at the same time.

I found a stick on my walk, it was strong and smooth and all the rough edges had been whittled away by water and sand. Wavy lines in different shades of gray ran the length of the stick and its ends were rounded and dull. It seemed to carry with it a story, a journey that I couldn’t completely comprehend.

When I turned around and began making my way back up the beach I saw two women walking toward me, as they neared I noticed one was using a red-tipped white walking cane and was latched onto the arm of the other woman, using her as a guide. I observed them discreetly as they walked. They were talking quietly and seemed to be enjoying the same peaceful moment I was. I tried to imagine what it would be like to be blind on such a walk, to smell the fresh water breeze, to hear the children laughing in the distance and the waves next to you, to feel the soft sand under your feet, but not be able to see the grandness of the scene. I wondered if she had been without sight for her entire life or if it was something she had lost along the way. I closed my eyes for a moment as I walked but I could still see the vivid colors that surrounded me. I wanted to tell the woman, explain to her what it all looked like, how the sun, the sky and the trees around us looked like fall; the trees in their multi-colored grandeur, the sun at an angle that seemed to show everything in a new light, a light that reminds you of how rapidly everything around you is changing. I wondered if she feels lonely at times, even when she has a friend beside her, when all her other senses whisper to her the beauty of a day she cannot see. Goosebumps tickled my arms and a sadness moved through me at the thought of such a loneliness. I realized that a day such as this one could be so beautiful but carry with it such a heavy emotion and how, in a way, it was very much like those pesky zebra mussels.

I also realized, on the beach today, how precious days like this, moments like this, are. I felt like I had walked into an exquisite photograph for a few hours where only I existed. I believe the beach is a magical place, it’s the only place I’ve ever experienced these quiet moments of Zen and it is my deepest wish to carry this day with me for awhile.