“Whisper to me wind the secrets of the river,

Tell me ancient tales sure to make me shiver.

Of long ago days when these woods were young.

When stories were written and recited and sung.”

That passage is only one of many pieces of creative writing that have been relegated to my metaphoric Attic of Unfinished Writing. The place where all my unfinished ideas, stories, poems, etc. go to live, hoping for the day I will rediscover and finish them. The stanza just came to me during a visit to the Rachel Carson National Wildlife Refuge in Wells, Maine, where I was captivated by the endless forest you could see in some spots. The cadence and the rhythm of the lines was something completely different from anything else I had ever written before and it excited me greatly. I put it into my phone, so I wouldn’t forget it, and was anxious to get home and finish it.  However when I got home and sat down to work on it, the inspiration was gone and this is the furthest I got with it. It frustrated me to no end to hit such a dead end with something that seemed to start out so naturally. I forget how long I sat looking at those four lines hoping to regain the mindset I was in when those words came to me, but alas, I couldn’t get back into the rhythm. It was like waking up from an awesome dream, wanting to go back to sleep and find yourself back in the same dream, but being unable to. So, after a couple of days of trying to finish it, the fragmented poem was sent packing to the attic.

In trying to think of something to post today, I visited my attic and lost myself in all the nooks and crannies. I poked around in several of the drawers that contain scraps of paper and notes when I came across this. Now that I’ve found it again, I’m looking at it with fresh eyes and who knows maybe now is the time for it to find its completion. I’ll keep you guys in the loop and if I find its ending I will definitely post it here.