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I slithered down the wet leaves of the wooded hillside behind our fields to get a closer look at Reeds Brook, rushing along after days of gray, cold rain. Gloomy days, gloomy times, but standing beside this little stream was settling. A little stream can exert great, patient power. Its insistent, dependable, constant whssshhh communicated comfort to me. I will wash away, wash away, wash away, all. Just let time flow. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 222: 71 words, TOTAL = 36,153; 23,847 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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