I remember the old days, wordpress days, when you could blog like a dream. I had a site once with five columns, like strands of shells and pale driftwood hanging in a window. Everyone was being wayward, creative, finding new trails in the forest, back then. Now we pretty much all do the same thing.
I miss the wood-witches who used wonderful old fonts to write about their wonderful lives. I miss the pebble-voiced earth poets who have no doubt moved on to more interesting things. There were people who had a way of putting together the barest elements and making something special. Now we can buy big, gorgeous, semi-professional if we want. And if we don't want, then we can stay on the fringes with our default templates and old-fashioned ideas and fewer comments.
I remember in particular one young woman who wrote a luminous, slightly disjointed poetry that was so impossible to ignore, I became a poet too out of sheer love for her words. She doesn't do it any more. She still has a weblog, writes stories, makes digital pictures; she has found her place. I don't write poetry for her poems either; every now and again I'll put some words together for twitter, but they're more solid and considered than they ever were. That's the thing - it's not just the internet which has changed, we have too. We've smoothed our dialects, focussed our visions. I rather miss the half-mad, excitable lot we used to be.
Of course we had to grow up. I rather envy those who have done it properly, leaving blogging behind. Sometimes I feel a little lost - slow adaptor that I always was, having finally understood what I loved best about weblogs, and now looking up to see everyone else moved on long, long ago to the next thing. But then I feel the same about real life.
I wish I could tell the woman whose name I don't remember that I'm grateful she taught me to grok the mama earth. I wish I could re-experience the first open-mouthed wonder on finding Rima Staines' blog. I wish I was grown up enough not to wish these things. Maybe I should just go write a small, aching poem.
A little background music for the new template, should you want it.