March 2026 SOLC–Day 8
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After waking early Saturday morning, I sit at my desk, looking forward to a morning without time constraints. On weekdays during the challenge, I have less time to write morning notes, as my writing needs to be more focused in order to get a post ready to go. As I start writing, I realize how much I’ve been missing free writing in my notebook over the past week. The ink spills from my pen out onto the page like a thread unreeling from a tightly-wound spool. I can feel myself unspooling, too. I write and write.
After a while, I pick up my phone and check the day’s forecast. I see the haze symbol and feel a sudden tug to visit the marsh. I love it when it’s foggy! I check the time. 5:05 am. I glance at my phone again. Sunrise is at 6:07. I can make it there if I leave soon. Closing my notebook decisively, I rise and get moving. Within ten minutes, I’m dressed and in my car heading south.
As I get closer, the rich smell of the marsh seeps into the car. I breathe deeply, enjoying the elemental, pungent scent. My shoulders lower. My jaw softens. Coming here was a good choice.
I pull into the empty parking lot, park my car, and grab my camera. Walking over to the path, I gaze out over the marsh. I see a small movement and turn to look. My arrival has disturbed two ducks. They paddle further away, slip streams rippling out behind them. I watch them for a bit then turn my attention to a tall tree across the channel. Often there is an eagle there, or later in the year, an osprey. I see a very faint outline. Is that an eagle? I zoom in with my camera, and only then can I confirm that it is. Even though I can barely see it, I like knowing it’s there, across the snowy expanse, where marsh grasses also lie hidden, dormant beneath thick layers of snow and tumbled chunks of ice. On the other side of the water. A silent companion in the mist.
With every step further onto the trail, with every sweep of my eyes over the hazy horizon, it’s as if I’m unspooling even further. Loosening. Every so often I hear a crow call. Or a seagull. I see Canada geese and watch them fly low across the snowy expanse. See their silhouettes hazy in the mist across the water. Admire a few ducks as they slip in and out of view.
Far off in the distance I hear the soothing rush of the surf. The ocean is out of view, a few miles away, but it thrums in the background today. Like a pulse.
I imagine that many people would find the scenery dull or stark. Even harsh or severe. But it speaks to me at a fundamental level. The muted winter palate is a balm. The mist is like swaddling, wrapping and comforting me. With every exhale, I feel lighter.
I hadn’t realized how much I needed this.
All the splintered, jagged edges of the week soften and smudge.
This. I think. Just this.
Nix the comfort zone 
So glad you went to the marsh and took us with you. As usual, your photos are beautiful in their simplicity. Much like seeing my daughters adventures through their eyes, seeing your morning through your eyes is calming. Unspooling while hearing the pulse of the ocean thrum, watching nature wake up – that is being present. Thanks, Molly!
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It had been far too long since I’d been there. Thanks for coming along!
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Great choice for the care and well-being of MBH! Love this line “All the splintered, jagged edges of the week soften and smudge.” Again, you’ve painted a beautiful marsh morning picture. Thanks.
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Thanks, Dan. It was definitely a healthy choice!
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I love it when you take us to the marsh.
Molly’s Marsh
I know it’s there
Dormant beneath thick snow
Silent companion
(Found haiku)
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Oh, I love this! Thanks for finding the words and making poetry from my post!
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Gorgeous scenery, and so peaceful. I’m so glad you shared those photos – – it does my heart good to see the tranquility, and I appreciate your sharing it.
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It definitely did my heart good, too!
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This is beautifully written, and the pictures, as always, are gorgeous. I love the term “unspooling.” With break coming next week, I hope I can do some of this, too.
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Oh, lucky you to have break coming so soon. I hope you find plenty of time for unspooling.
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This is so beautiful! I love the slow unspooling of the piece–how you take us through your leisurely writing and then your rambling through the marsh. You have so many beautiful lines. Here’s one I particularly love: “The mist is like swaddling, wrapping and comforting me. With every exhale, I feel lighter.”
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Thank you! With a newborn grandson around, I think I have swaddling on the brain!
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Molly, I’m so glad you unspooled at the marsh and took me with you. I needed it, too. I adore the misty photo of the bald eagle and your other photos. Ice jammed up water is so interesting to look at. It’s so nice that you can walk with the marsh on both sides of you. That white and black duck is so pretty. Soon you’ll be seeing ospreys returning. They are magnificent. I’ve only seen them fly on TV. But along a river I’ve driven by their big nests and seen sitting in their nest. Many years ago, when our girls were young and were in Cape Cod. We walked along a marsh and saw a huge osprey nest up close! We were all in shock about how huge it was. There were small birds that made little holes for nests in the osprey’s nest! The osprey wasn’t home though. The herons will be flying back, too!
I love your whole slice and how you unspool and feel better with each animal or piece of nature that you see. These are some lines I especially resonated with: slip streams rippling out behind them, I breathe deeply, enjoying the elemental, pungent scent, soothing rush of the surf, it thrums in the background, a pulse, across the snowy expanse, dormant beneath thick layers of snow and tumbled chunks of ice, A silent companion in the mist, The mist is like swaddling, wrapping and comforting me. With every exhale, I feel lighter. All the splintered, jagged edges of the week soften and smudge. Thank you so much for sharing your beautiful writing, amazing photos, and your inspiration.
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Thanks, Gail! It’s a lovely trail out into the marsh. It used to be old train lines. Also, I’m sorry WordPress gave you some commenting problems, and appreciate your persevering.
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Yes! I love the way you appreciate the unappreciated: the fog and mist, the cold, the blurred edges (and I can smell the funk only the marsh offers). Your photos are stunning along with your words. I love the unspooling… It’s the same reason I find myself at the edge of the sea.
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Well, after the marsh that day, I went to the ocean! It was a double dose of unspooling — much needed and much appreciated!
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