March 2026 SOLC–Day 11
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

Monday was a long day. That night before going to bed, I moaned to my husband, “I don’t want to stay after school for Writing Club tomorrow. It’s supposed to be beautiful! I want to come home and go for a walk.”

Tuesday morning dawned, already leaning toward warm. The forecast was for blue skies, sunshine and temps in the 60s, but it was stormy weather in my classroom. All. Day. Long. The last thing I wanted to do was extend my day at school after dismissal. I yearned to go home, to abandon ship and seek shelter from the turbulence. Not an option. 

So, when my crew of writers arrived after school, I did the next best thing. I diverted our course. I ditched my planned prompt and announced that we were going to take a sensory walk. My small group was enthusiastic. They are Mainers, after all, and know to make hay while the sun shines. In other words, if it’s warm and sunny in March, get outside and enjoy it! It won’t last!

So we did.

We stepped out of the building, exclaiming at the warmth, shedding layers of sweaters and sweatshirts and, in my case, a little stress. Our attention was immediately captured by a lone bee hovering over the sidewalk. What was it doing out and about? We ambled along, stopping to listen, to smell, to touch, to see. Sharing our observations. Enjoying the beauty of the day together.

The kids convinced me to head out into the woods, despite the slushy snow and my inadequate footwear. One of them advised, “If the back of your shoe is wider than the front, put that part down first and then put the front down slowly. Your foot won’t get as wet.”  This worked surprisingly well. 

Walking forward into the path, we marveled as the temperature dipped in the shade, refrigerated by the shade and the deeper piles of snow. We stopped in a small clearing, surrounded by towering trees. 

“I smell pine!” A exclaimed. 

I took a deep breath of air, then moved a few steps forward and did so again. “Oh! I do, too!” I enthused, as a hint of balsam reached me. We all jotted. 

“Cars!” several exclaimed at once, then scribbled again in their notebooks.

After the traffic sounds ebbed, we stood a bit longer. 

“It’s a shame there’s no breeze. Then we could hear trees moving,” I commented.

A moment later, there was a soft, rustling noise. Excited, I turned and saw A. grasping a low branch of pine, swishing it back and forth.

We all laughed. 

“Thanks, A! That was helpful!”

We wandered a bit further along the trail.

“Deer poop!” exclaimed L in delight, running ahead. She’s a writer whose writing tends toward comics, dark humor and inevitably, poop. This was treasure indeed!

“Well, don’t taste it!” someone commented dryly.

Nearby we found deer tracks. We looked more closely and found several more, pausing to imagine the deer walking in this space before us.

“I’m watching out for lady slippers,” C. commented, as we moved on. “I don’t want to step on any!” 

I eyed the snow cover around us. That felt a bit overoptimistic, but commendable, nonetheless. 

The kids walked ahead of me, leading the way out of the woods.

As we moved back into the sun, their faces turned instinctively to the sun, like seedlings. Heliotropism in action. We stood still and soaked it in.

“I hear a crow!” C. whispered. 

“I see a cattail by the pond, and I can still smell the pine,” A added. 

“I feel a breeze on my skin!” L. declared.

I feel better. I thought.

March 2026 SOLC–Day 9
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

Your starting phrase is “The sky seemed a little bit…”

The sky seemed a little bit like an invitation. The clouds gathered in streaks behind our overgrown apple tree. There were patches of blue and grey and a mixture of patterns.  I felt the tug to wander outside. To see more. I put on my boots and headed out, phone in hand.

Avoiding the remnants of ice on the brick pathway, I walk through the snow-piled garden and onto the driveway. My feet make sloppy prints in the muddy gravel. I look up at the sky again, intrigued by the pebbled texture of the clouds. Click. Click. 

I consider my best vantage and walk further down the driveway to line up a different shot. Click. Click. Sometimes I forget to just notice what’s around me instead of taking pictures. I deliberately lower my phone and turn a full circle in the driveway, eyes on the sky. Even as I watch, the grey clouds were parting to highlight blue skies.

It’s warm today. 60˚F. A gift as surely as the skies are. Both are something to savor.  

A little while later we walk on the loop through town for the first time in months. Usually I resent the lost hour of sleep/work/whatever from Daylight Savings so much that it obscures the benefits. Perhaps it’s the unexpected warmth of today, but I’m feeling positive. It will be light enough for afternoon walks now. Things are shifting.

Downtown, we step onto the bridge to look out over the river. A small flock of mergansers hugs the edge of ice. The water is opening up again. There’s a feeling of change in the air.

The shift toward spring is evident in the glowing warmth of the sun, the changing shadows, the water rushing along the edge of the street and waterfalling into the gutter. 

“Listen to the water rushing,” I comment to Kurt. “It’s such a spring sound!”

“It’s not spring,” he says, channeling Eyeore. “It’s not spring for twelve more days.”

I might have rolled my eyes. 

“Well, you’re welcome to keep thinking it’s winter, but I’m going to be happy thinking it’s spring,” I comment. 

We continue along companionably, chatting about this and that. Enjoying stretching our legs and the glorious warmth. Every now and then I snap another photo, loving the interplay of clouds in the sky, the shadows, the changing light.

At the bottom of our driveway, Kurt turns to head home. 

“I’m going to walk a little bit more,” I announce, not ready to call an end to enjoying the warmth and the last minutes of weekend freedom before the onset of a work week. 

“Ok,” he says, and we move off in different directions.

Farther down the road, I pause at a field, admiring the snow covered angles, the line of trees, the expanse of sky, the rich layered colors in the clouds. Far overhead I catch sight of something soaring. Broad wing strokes rise and fall against a canvas of clouds. Is it an eagle? 

I watch for a few minutes, enjoying its movement against the sky, imagining that its enjoying the spring-like day as much as I am. From this far it’s hard to tell, but then the bird flies slightly closer and turns, revealing that telltale white tail. Yes! It is an eagle.

Another gift. I hold it close and walk on. 

March 2026 SOLC–Day 7
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

I tilt my head back and let the warm water flow over my hair, rinsing away the shampoo. My feet splash as I step forward, reaching for the conditioner.

Wait? Splash?

I look down at my feet and see water puddling around the shower drain. I lift one foot. Then the other. Splash. Splash. 

Uh oh…When was the last time I cleaned the drain?

I squat to get a closer look. The water is definitely backing up. If I can’t remember when I last cleaned it, no doubt it’s overdue.

I reach down to the drain grate. Is it lefty loosie or righty tighty?

I grip and nudge the grate to the left, not wanting to push too hard in case I’m going the wrong way. Nothing happens. I push again a little harder and feel a little give. Another twisting push and the grate cover is free. Success! I lift it from the drain, and a large glob of hairy, goopy nastiness dangles from it. If the drain were a cat, this would be a monstrous hairball! Making a face, I pull the slippery mass free, place it in the far corner of the shower. Then I reach down into the drain to see what else I can scavenge. One after another, I pull up several large clumps of gunky yuck and add them to the debris pile. It’s simultaneously both thoroughly disgusting and immensely satisfying. 

After the drain is as clear as I can get it, I replace the grate. I finish my shower, washing my hands repeatedly, and relish the water’s swift descent through the drain. No more splashing!

When my shower is done, I get some tissues, pick up the pile of yuck and throw it away. 

If only all my problems were solved this easily!