Sunday, January 15, 2012
a writer's seat
Journal Notes 1-14-12
...perched above the Flint River on a smooth writer's seat that used to be a strong shade tree.Perfect spot for musing.This log is interesting with its well spaced holes and curves.
It's quiet other than the breeze rustling the leaves and the woodpeckers screeching and tapping.It's quite cold and I wouldn't be here if the sun wasn't so inviting.
Wind ripples the Flint.The ducks who flew off left their good-bye wake.Tall tree trunks across the river are reflected in the brown/grey water.Some parts of my long seat touch the water,making slight waves.A small downy with a blood red spot on top lands right on the tree next to me,cheeps,looks and leaves.Now, he's tapping along with the Pileated woodpecker to my right.This is the woods choir I hear.
Slow, meandering river, a palette of muted colors reflected in the water.Tan,grey,brown,always shimmering,moving and even the bright blue sky is muted by the Flint's brown.I love these earth tones.The slanting sun's rays point to what I should capture with my lens.A spot through the trees across the river that looks like bright blue tissue paper is just a framed piece of sky.One tree across the way,very tall, bare except for large puffs of mistletoe.
And so it is:
You tap,I sit and listen
Different ways to be.