Weekly Inspiration: The Persistence of Memory

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]