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Glimmers of the Creative Spirit

Much of our creative spirit is formed in our early life. Curiosity turns into thoughts and feelings that are planted in our consciousness waiting for the right conditions to sprout. The question isn't if they'll grow, but when.

I have been writing as long as I've been drawing. Little poetic notes written to my parents, gradually matured, as I did, into heartfelt prose. There was always something in me, wanting to emerge.

Some of my early writings

We all experience emotions. Some of us try to put them into words. Love and heartbreak, joy and sorrow are somewhat softened and deepened when one can write the feelings down. It helps us feel less alone, even if no one ever reads it but us. Because our higher self is there reading it too.

I have always been inspired by nature. I grew up in Long Beach, California. Even though it was sunny and pleasant, it was overcrowded and nature was tamed. Thankfully, when I was nine years old my parents bought property on the Hood Canal in Washington State. Summers became my first forays into exploring wild nature.

There was a time in my youth when my writing became more than recording my own thoughts. I vividly recall the first day I began to write a poem because it was the only way to express myself. I was thirteen years old and we were at our summer cabin. One afternoon, I became overwhelmed with emotion about how some of humanity disregarded the need for treating nature with love and respect. I remember grabbing a pen and paper, laying on the floor, and writing my heart out. I recall struggling with how to compose on the essential words needed to say what I wanted to say while still forming a rhyme. It wasn't just a journal entry, it was poetry.

I was fortunate that my parents were supportive of my creative endeavors. Especially my mother, Kay, who not only supported my creative pursuits, but admired them and considered them divinely inspired.

When my parents seemingly happy marriage ended when I was fifteen, the stability of my outer and inner worlds shifted. My mother’s grief, and my own, became more catalysts for my need to express my feelings.

Once again I turned to my love of nature for solace, inspiring this poem I wrote at the age of fifteen.

The leaves shake in a slight breath of wind.
the dry whispers spread until everyone has heard.
the rain is coming…

Teardop rivulets slide down the green pathways,
each forming a crossroad of its own.
slowly each drop blends with the multitude that collect on the ground.
They form a puddle of life, reflecting the world.

Some drops are caught before they fall in the puddle.
Instead, they hand suspended, motionless for a few precious moments.
These separately reflect the world from their different vantage points.
Yet theirs is a different world, it is upside down.
Each drop has its own private scene of fantasy,
framed in a secret of brief, suspended beauty.

The wind blows. The leaves shake.
A drop reluctantly lets go of its foundation.
Gravity takes its toll as the drop slowly, hopelessly falls toward the puddle.
For an instant it may seem to hang right above its fate, before plunging into the multitude.
Though the single drop’s identity is lost,
its downfall creates a current which sweeps other drops upward.
Most of them fall back down, but a very few catch hold of a leaf,
where they repeat the process over and over again until all of the water
has been absorbed by the roots of their foundation.

Time passes.
The leaves shake in a slight breath of wind…

~ Kim McElroy, 1981

This poem was something new, it wasn't just about my feelings, or my need to express emotions. It was a message for myself and others, from some higher aspect of my consciousness. My mother recognized this difference, and celebrated it. She submitted it to several publications. I cherish this letter she wrote on my behalf. I don't recall if she received a response, or even if my poem was published, what mattered to me was her pride in the new voice that had emerged from within me.

In 1987, when horses became my muses, they gave me a way of expressing my emotions and spiritual beliefs, and my creativity had a new focus. Writing and art fused, becoming one expression. My love for horses connected me with people. As I found an audience for my work, my true potential began to unfold. Like a filly born to race, I felt there was a destiny awaiting me.

"The Wishing Well" Custom Prints Available

Now, my writing is a way of communicating with wonderful people like you. Some people get to know me through my words and art, even if we'll never meet. The words pave the pathway to my art. Even though art is subjective, words help put it into perspective.

I have published two books and a quarterly journal, and as of this writing I am on the verge of launching my Inspirations subscription. In the Fall of 2023, I will become a published author.

Not bad for a little filly who dreamt of standing in the winner's circle.

It means so much to me that you are here to read and view my writing and art, and I hope my musings in-spire you to express your own creative voice.

Find out more about my Inspirations subscription.

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1 Comment

Kim, I am happily addicted to horses and also to your fabulous art and inspirations that bring even more joy. My deepest gratitude for all you do! I love the photo of eight-year-old you on a big horse! So many of us are incurably and happily bitten by the inimitable horse bug!

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