I took a walk today. Went to My Lake (if I like something, it becomes Mine, with a capital M). OK, I know it doesn’t belong to me, it belongs to the city, but oh well. It’s a pretty little place hidden behind the library, that’s become a sort of bird sanctuary. Lots of herons, geese, a variety of ducks I can’t name, my favorite red-winged black birds (we had them at the trailer). Boys and I found a snake once, and there’s a small area where the turtles come out to bask. Think we’re the only ones who know about it. They’re right there by the trail but no one ever pays attention when they’re walking. So sad. Why walk, if you’re not going to look? They’ve apparently reproduced since the last time I’ve come. Instead of one, then two turtles, there were seven today. Yellow-bellieds, like mine (Edgar).
I didn’t sleep well, and the first thought on my mind this morning was making a disclaimer on Authonomy. I know there’s tense shifts in my first chapter. Because there ARE tense shifts. She’s only intermittently interacting with the present. Otherwise, she’s drifting through her thoughts. Anyway, I didn’t. That would make me abrasive. I’ll just sit here and growl and wait for someone who reads just to read, not because they want to rack up their points and get to the Editor’s Desk.
Maybe cutting my book was more traumatic than I’d thought. I woke just antsy this morning. I sat by a little pond set behind My Lake for awhile. Got off the bench, took off my shoes, crossed the trail and sat in the reeds by the bank. I crossed my legs and closed my eyes, and listened. Noone ever does that, either. I listened to the wind in the trees, how the leaves flapped against each other. I love that sound, but how do you describe it? I struggle with that. There were three tones of insects. I almost didn’t catch the third. I could hear the wind pushing at the water, and the ducks diving with their butts in the air as they hunted for whatever it is they eat.
I did the same by the turtles. Went off the trail and into the trees, sitting on the sloping dirt right in front of them. They kinda looked at me like What the hell? This mallard came inches from my feet, sifting through the shore, way too intent on eating to care about my purpose. Couldn’t relax, there. I’d passed a goose with an obviously broken wing, and it was really bothering me that there was no way I could help it. What if it needs to be amputated? What the hell happened to him? Winter’s coming, what will he do? He was isolated from the rest of the flock. What will happen to him?
I left after awhile, deciding I wasn’t isolated enough. I really need to get up higher and into the mountains before winter comes. Take a drive up to Estes, or more preferably Grand Lake. I miss that the most- the time to just get in the car and drive somewhere. Pack the kids, pack some food, and go. I’m planning my next run-away road trip already. Driving to Chicago was so perfect. I think there’s some gypsy blood in me somewhere. I just want to go.