Hoping you have all had a restful Easter – even if it wasn’t where, how or with whom you’d originally planned. As with much of the world, we stay-cayed. We could have camped by one of creeks on our property, but opted to stay at the house, and ride back and forth to the creek each afternoon/evening, for paddling/campfire/damper, etc…
It was our first real foray onto the creek after February rains filled the dry bed, and the mosquitos swarmed. Now the mud and mosquitos have settled, paddling up the creek, felt like I was catching up with an old friend after a long parting. (So many changes, after sustained dry weather, though. Lots of dead trees…😿)
This morning we slipped out early for a paddle upstream, where the creek narrows, and is surrounded by scrubby rainforest. We sloshed through shallow sandy patches, clambered over rocks, and tramped through tangled vines and along cattle tracks …
Morning pedal, paddle and potter…
I came home, refreshed, to read that the Progressive Poem (complete with raccoon and loon) had wended its way along the wiregrass track, to my blog.
This year the progressive poem has morphed into a Choose Your Own Adventure piece – with each poet contributing two options for their own line. So, my first task was to make a choice from Linda Mitchell’s two lines… (you’ll find them here; A Word Edgewise) and then drop two of my own, for Margaret Simons (co-ordinator of this year’s progressive poem) to ponder. I love that Margaret is following me – because we’ve been tag-teaming each other in our kayaks, on opposite sides of the globe!🛶
So, with this morning’s scramble through scrub fresh in my mind, I knew what I wanted to bring to the poem. An interruption. A surprise. Anticipation.
I crack the door open, but will it be a moment of wonder, or drama, that steps through?
Sweet violets shimmy, daffodils sway
along the wiregrass path to the lake.
I carry a rucksack of tasty cakes
and a banjo passed down from my gram.
I follow the tracks of deer and raccoon
and echo the call of a wandering loon.
A whispering breeze joins in our song.
and night melts into a rose gold dawn.
Deep into nature’s embrace, I fold.
Promise of spring helps shake the cold
hints of sun lightly dapple the trees
calling out the sleepy bees.
Leaf-litter crackles … I pause. Twig snaps. (Option One)
Through a gap in the timber I catch a glimpse (Option Two)
And now, I pass the paddle to Margaret. Which line will she choose? What will she discover? You’ll find it at Reflections on the Teche, tomorrow.
Thank-you Irene Latham, for starting us on our Progressive Poem journey – and Margaret for keeping us rolling. It is always fun to take part!
Progressive Poem 2020