Companionship

A writing retreat of silence and solitude. Hardly. It's far from silent and I'm certainly not alone. Between the companionship of the trees, the calls of the birds, the tap of the woodpeckers, the eagle and hawk sightings, the ever-changing laps of the baywater, the leaping out of the mullet, the hatching of the jellyfish, the creeping of the crabs, the puffing up of the lizards, the purring of the wind, my steps in the dry grass, the beating of birdwings, the waving of the leaves, the drooping of the Spanish moss, the rising and setting of the sun and moon, the passing of the clouds, the late night booms over the bay, whatever they are, I can begin to understand why native American people didn't speak much. They were so busy watching, listening, interpreting. dkm

p.s. If you're interested, I've added photos to yesterday's post about the live oak tree and to April 13's post about the bald eagle.

Why the wrong dates?

These dates are off, since I've been traveling and have not had internet access. They correspond to the date I copied entry from travel log into blog after return from trips---not the actual date of observation. Will add a few each day till caught up to real time.

Should also note that recent observations were not made in my backyard---but at Lake Junaluska in South Carolina, and on the East Bay in Gulf Breeze, Florida, where I have had two long solitary writing retreats to work on 7th draft of current manuscript.

Thanks to the kindness of friends, who have loaned me their quiet places, and husband, who encouraged me to do it, I've had the unmatched gift of 16 days of solitude in which to immerse myself in problem solving with WL manuscript, slow thinking, writing, re-writing, yoga, deep breathing, and observation of nature.

The title of this entry reminds me of Moe's joke: A horse goes into a bar. Bartender says, "Why the long face?"