Today I wanted to share something with you, that I actually wrote for a class. My history professor gave us a hands on assignment, in which we go outside for an hour, avoiding all modern technology the best we can, to simulate more or less what it would be like to live in the seventeenth century ( technology wise). Then we had to write a creative reflection, illustrating our experience. Being a blogger, I tend to constantly check social media. I don’t remember the last time I left my home without my phone somewhere on me, and I can’t recall the last time I enjoyed a beautiful sunset without snapping a picture of it to post. This assignment was refreshing, an honest wake up call, reminding me that every once in awhile, it’s okay to not be attached by the hip to your profiles and text messages. Here is the poem inspired by the experience. I hope you enjoy it.
Thoughts from a Midnight Walk
The darkness from the night sky is kissing our shadows, as we walk, briskly.
Boots scraping against the pavement, the familiar sting of wind on our cheeks, turning our noses pink,
Where is the profile? Where is the like?
Where is the technology that keep us up at night?
Gone in the wind, I feel its absence, like a part of who I am, left at home.
My eyes hold no strain from a screen,
I look around and feel things around me,
I feel the crunch of the leaves beneath my toes, the rustle of the grass as the night grows,
I see no one else, just me and the steps as I walk somewhere else.
I hear music, loud in the drums,
I see phones and swiping thumbs,
Yet I reach in my pocket and it is not there,
I left some of myself in my room, to avoid its glare,
My feet move forward, the temperature drops,
Watercolor nature blends like a picture beautiful and effervescent,
The breath of an innocent to the breath of a bird,
We hold the key to the world,
Back in time, books are read,
no kindle or nook to make a books bed,
In the future, we drive, we push and shove, go fast to emphasize our hurry,
Back in time we appreciated our surroundings, the simplicity of a snow flurry,
Southern girl in the north, culture is different here,
Fishing and oceans, sandy feet all that I hold dear,
Here it is different, different fun, different way of life,
Yet a staple that hasn’t changed is the technology that will suffice,
Walking now, hand in hand, with the pretty overnight view,
I picture the dirt road to the past, and all the modern appreciation,
That rarely comes through,
Walk, talk, see,
hear all that is around,
I listen and learn to all that I am missing because I have been looking down.