March 2025 SOLC–Day 3
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

Yesterday my friend, Margaret Simon, wrote about her early morning walk, and I knew immediately that that was what I would write about today. Unlike Margaret, I don’t take walks before school during the week, nor do I meditate. My walks tend to happen early on weekend mornings. Most often they involve sunrise and photography, which means they are more like saunters than power walks. Some of them become more about standing still than about moving.

Yesterday morning, even though I knew it was cold outside, I opted to head out to the local river I drive over every day on my commute. Most days while rushing to work I wish I had time to stop and take a picture. Most days I’m already feeling the pull of too much to do, and don’t stop. Yesterday, with the generosity of Sunday morning time on my side, I hoped for some rising mist from the river, a burst of brilliant colors at sunrise, or some other photo-worthy moment.

As it turns out, the morning was not particularly spectacular, unless you were talking about the wind and the cold, which were out in full force. Still, I parked by the river and walked out onto the bridge, getting buffeted by gusts of biting wind. Ice and snow covered much of the river below me. The sky lightened in the east with no dramatic prelude to dawn, just a steady color change. The wind shoved me again and again and sent scrolls of scrawling ripples down the river. By the falls upriver, the valiant small tree, rooted amidst the rocks, defiantly steadfast through all seasons and flood and drought, still stood fast. Way downstream, some sort of duck was busy dipping and diving into the water. A leaf scuttled across the bridge.

I was freezing and my fingers ached, but I was also breathing in the frigid air, feeling the moment flow around me, feeling the sting of cold on my cheeks and smiling.

Margaret included a poem with her post, a lovely invitation and celebration. I thought I might do the same, to try to capture some of my morning “walk”. My first poem came out like this:

OMG! It was cold
really cold
dang cold
COLD!!!

Given Margaret’s mentor poem, I figured I could try a little harder. I’m also trying to channel positivity into my days, and even though the day wasn’t a dramatically beautifully one, my time outside was, as always, deeply fulfilling.

Daybreak

On the river, wind gusts sketch madly.
The water shivers with ripples.
Tree limbs scratch at the white sky.
Despite the chill, the sun
continues to rise,
to face down the
relentless
brutal
cold.
Each
sunrise
offers hope
for a fresh start.
Possibility
lingers every morning.
Even in the aching cold
there’s an insistent thrum of life
beating at the heart of each new day.

©Molly Hogan