Tag Archives: marsh

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The First Day of April Break

The alarm trills with bird song at 4:15 am. I can’t say I spring out of bed, but I’m somewhat closer to grin than groan. Today, I’m going to welcome the day at the marsh. I’m in happy anticipation of seeing egrets and herons, glossy ibis and who knows what else. I’ve been feeling the pull of the marsh for weeks now, but rainy (and snowy) and busy weekends have kept me away. Even as I rub the sleep away from my eyes, I feel my spirits lifting.

The sun rises well before 6 am these days, and the marsh is about 45 minutes away. It’s in the 30s now, but headed up toward 60 later. I’m uncertain what to wear, but eventually opt for layers, and dress hurriedly. I pour my coffee in a to-go cup, detour to tuck a hand warmer in my coat pocket, and grab my camera. Before too much time has passed, I’m in the car, driving southward. The moon glows overhead, an oddly shaped egg bright in the sky. Soon dawn will chase the dark away over the horizon.

Yesterday I mentioned to Kurt that my shoulders have been living up by my ears these days. No matter how often I consciously relax them, the unrelenting tension of these days pulls them up again. Even now, at the beginning of break, driving to where I want to go, I realize my shoulders are taut with tension. Consciously I pull them down, breathe. I remind myself that my most pressing decision right now is where I will go after the marsh. Will I also go to the beach? Will I take myself out to breakfast? It’s early for warblers, but I could visit some likely spots. The morning is lightening around me and options abound. I settle my shoulders lower, loosen my grip on the steering wheel, and drive toward the new day.

Later I find a surprise message at the bottom of my coffee cup:

It feels like the perfect way to end my morning, and the perfect message to keep in mind as I unwrap the gift of this week.

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Conundrum

I woke up Sunday uncertain what to do.

“Should I drive south and look for snowy owls?” I wondered.

It was tempting. The forecast was for cold and clear weather, and the possibility of seeing snowy owls is a time-limited opportunity here. There was no guarantee that I’d see one if I went out, but on the other hand, I definitely wouldn’t if I didn’t go looking.

I glanced around me at my desk, my notebook and pen. I heard the coffee pot burbling and felt the warmth of the wood stove gently pulsing against my back. In a little while, the sun would rise and the birds would be visiting. The idea of a lazy, lingering Sunday morning at home tugged at me. I love the quiet of the house when I’m the only one awake and when all deadlines are distant enough to ignore for at least a little while.

Still, I was torn.

I had a little time before I had to decide, so I opted to write for a bit before making up my mind. I opened up the most recent prompt from the New Year’s Poetry Challenge from MOST (the Modesto Stanislaus Poetry Center). Much to my surprise, it was entitled “A Chance Encounter.”

I put down my pen. “Well, that’s that,” I said aloud. It was a definitive sign, or at least I interpreted it as one: I needed to get out there and look for a snowy owl! I didn’t even read any further. I took another sip of coffee, shut my notebook, and packed up my things. Within about 10 minutes, I was on the road and on the hunt for snowy owls.

Here’s how the morning unfolded:

I did not see a snowy owl, nor did I return to write anything in response to the prompt, but I enjoyed a thoroughly gorgeous morning on the beach and at the marsh.

It felt like the right choice.

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SOLC Day 20: A Dose of Calm

March 2024 SOLC–Day 20
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

Last Saturday I woke early. I knew I wanted to drive to the marsh for sunrise. After a hectic week of report cards, I needed a dose of calm. The forecast had promised fog and it delivered.

I arrived to a shrouded world. Objects faded in and out of sight as I walked. The puddles seemed to offer portals to other worlds.

I was wrapped in quiet, my view limited to what was immediately around me. The horizon held its secrets close. After the busy, stimulation of the week, this limited focus was a balm.

Occasionally, a faint shadow appeared in the distant fog. Eventually, it resolved into another person. We’d pass with a nod or a hello. Then I’d be back to reveling in the solitude, hearing only the far off calls of birds– mostly sea gulls, and geese and the repeated joyful serenades of the song sparrows.

Finally, the sun gained an edge over the fog, and blue patches of sky emerged.

It was time for me to leave.

I left feeling grateful, carrying the calm of the morning within me.