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.