Greetings, writers—
I’m still in river heaven and writing hel—oh, never mind! You should see the way the bank swallows careen and swoop over the water, devouring bugs from dawn until dusk. Yesterday I saw five turkey vultures sitting on the bank of the island, just on the other side of the rapids—they looked like big black chickens—and four more swirling in the sky over their friends.
Later there were thirteen Canada geese (somehow less boring when seen outside the city), an osprey, some plovers, a dipper, about a dozen mergansers, one of which flew right by my face when I was swimming, and, exactly 22 minutes after the sun went down, so many bats, squeaking and fluttering above where I lay on the river bank, so close I could almost touch them.
All day long I watched things eating other things, and light glittering on the water, and then the moon came up and hung over the cliff on the other side of the river, and as two enormous herons flew home to their nests, I thought, Why use words? Why not just watch everything forever?
Well, that doesn’t pay the rent is the obvious answer, but this is reminder to all of us that while imagination is lovely, lovely, it does tend to pale in comparison to what’s really out there. So look around you today. Appreciate something green or fluttering or glinting or swift.
And for your writing prompt, please read the following poem by Nancy Peter Hastings and write a scene of the natural world butting up against the human (or vice versa, as the case may be).
Happy writing—
Emily
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