 Why don’t I rise at this quiet hour more often? Cool air, dewy grass, peaceful pond ruffled by three landing sweeps – a trio of mallards have arrived for the day. Fog bank whorls over the Penobscot River, a face mask muffling the rising sun. When you have to catch a 7:30 boat that’s an hour and a quarter’s drive away, you drag yourself up and out. Makes me wish I had to catch a 7:30 boat every morning (sort of). My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 324: 80 words, TOTAL = 52,708; 7,292 remaining |
AuthorRobin Clifford Wood is a writer and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband and dogs, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her grown children and their multi-species families. Archives
January 2021
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