While
we are sequestered in our homes Writers’ Morning Out wants to stay connected with you and support you in any way we can. We’ll be sending out weekly emails that we hope you’ll find inspiring. If you have a
thought-provoking idea, please let me know. I’m trying to figure out how to enable comments on our blog, so we can have conversations about various postings, but alas, so far, I
haven’t. (Our blog is on the Blogger.com platform—any help will be
greatly appreciated!)
I’m
also thinking of setting up call-ins through Zoom where we can talk
about the progress on our goals (or not), challenges we are facing to
write—either on-going or new ones resulting from our new environment,
inspirations that are encouraging us, and other writerly topics of
interest. Please let me or Rick know if you like this idea.
Moments
On
my walk this morning, as I listened to peepers and bird songs (or as some wit said “Birds screaming for sex”) I saw mayapples beginning to carpet the woods and bluets lining the road. Mixed in were white Slender toothworts and a few blue violets just then opening their nodding buds. Spotted trillium leaves, appearing like wings above the ground,
waited for their golden-yellow flowers, while squirrels scampered up a leafless sweetgum as Billy Joe trotted by.
Moments of joy linger, don’t you think? Therra Cathryn Gwyn
captures one such moment in her untitled essay, below. Perhaps her story will inspire a piece of prose or maybe a poem for Poem of the Day in April.
Be Safe, Be Well, Wash Hands ~ carol
The Persistence of Memory
by Therra Cathryn Gwyn
Mere
months after John died, I took a winter trip to Florida with my pal
Wendy. We went to swim among the manatees in Crystal River. We left an
Atlanta that was covered in ice and headed south. The part of the
Sunshine State we went to was having some uncharacteristically cold
morning temps so the manatees (they are mammals like us) were gathered
by the hundreds in the springs, which is a constant, comfortable, 71
degrees.
The
springs proper are roped off in order to give these fat marine sweeties
some peace from their celebrity status but they move in and out at
will. People swim around outside the ropes in order to observe and hang
out with them. Unlike the first time I did this trip, decades before,
you’re not allowed to touch the slow-moving rotund critters unless they
approach you first.
I’m glad they put that rule into effect.
The
morning we ventured out with a small group on a small boat it was
barely dawn and the air temp was a biting 31 degrees. The water temps
outside the Springs were cold enough that hypothermia was a concern for
some of the swimmers.
So,
there was your faithful correspondent, suited up in a snorkel gear,
clumsily floating in a none-too-flattering wetsuit, with the tour guide
keeping an eye on me because I can’t swim. He was more worried than I
was. I love being in the water.
At
one point a pod of manatees came through at their characteristic
leisurely pace and I found myself stuck in the middle of their passing
parade.
Manatees
are big critters—some are downright huge (I used to joke they were like
floating VW Beetles). Conscious of the fact that I wasn’t supposed to
impede them in any way, I clutched my hands to my body as they bumped me
around gently while they passed. Thrilled to be in their midst, I
closed my eyes and felt a joy I hadn’t known in almost two years since
John first fell ill. The water was cold but my heart was so warm.
I
separated myself from the human tour group a bit because I wanted some
space. Occasionally, when my ears were above water, I’d hear the guide
call over and ask me how I was. I’d give him the “OK” sign and put my
face back under the surface.
I
liked being away from the heaviness of land in this different,
less-gravity world. At that point in my life I so longed for a different
world.
Soon
I noticed an oh-so-adorable baby manatee, small and round, looking at
me with those innocent eyes that most baby creatures, including humans,
have. It swam toward me with the purpose and curiosity of the young. I
stayed as still as one can in water. It came right up and “kissed” me,
pressing its chubby mouth to my cheek. Baby’s soft whiskers brushed me
as it explored my face and then it started nibbling on my hair. We were
thisclose as our eyes met.
I seldom in my life have felt such a sweet peace.
I
vividly remember the mellow kaleidoscope of moving colours as morning
light filtered through the water and the feeling of tranquility as one
of the gentlest animals on this planet connected with me for a moment in
time. I didn’t even care that in my unflattering wetsuit, bobbing like a
beachball, it might have mistaken me for its mother. I didn’t care. I
didn’t care if I got hypothermia. I didn’t even care if I drowned. All I
knew fully was for the first time…in a very long time…my heart was at
ease.
I realized that life goes on, no matter what.
Please tell me one of your happy memories.
[END]
