I saw a bicyclist with an extremely low tire.
He biked on down the trail, ignoring his situation. Curious . . . what was the story there?
In the last couple of weeks, it’s been one
hundred and ten degrees in the shade—great for staying in and writing. Revising my novel. After a week or two
of this southern version of hibernation, the mind and body needs to find space. A writer’s block of the muscles. On
Sunday morning, the temperature dropped to eighty-eight degrees, so I headed
out to a nearby nature preserve to hike. Another
blank page.
 |
| 2012 Linnea Heaney The Path |
Starting out, it was steamy, but not too hot.
The paper signs taped to the trail head posts included, “Lost: eight black
cows.” The counting book I tweaked every
now and then. The scent in the air was a little too real for the images.
“Missing: Bichon Frise lost on this trail.” Hmm,
a possible plot point? I met toddlers to older character types. The age of my manuscripts. And many dogs
on walks with their people. Dogs . . . my
rejected manuscripts, the ones I loved unconditionally.
 |
| 2012 Linnea Heaney Dog with Walkers |
Soon I left the chattering toddlers,
strollers, and dachshunds behind. Those
just beginning on their paths. My muscles relaxed and remembered the last
time they’d been on a trail. It was in the much cooler mountains of the Pacific
Northwest last month. A unique cool
setting. I searched for the elusive, threatened northern spotted owl. A first book publication. The saw-whet
owl is what I identified. A positive
rejection.
 |
| 2012 Linnea Heaney Fast-moving Bicyclist |
Hiking along the nature trail, I met a
fast-moving bicyclist, a steady horse and rider. Pacing. My mind considered the loss of green color in the snapping
dry woods. I need to write. The black
bat houses were clearly visible. A red cardinal flitted down from a tree. A
female cardinal checked the trail. Look
for the details of an ordinary life.
 |
| 2012 Linnea Heaney Fallen Tree with Bat House |
A well-mannered large white dog sat on the
bridge over a still creek. A red herring.
I passed, lost in my own thoughts, focused on the next step, and continued onto
the quiet trail beyond. It was getting warmer. I realized everyone else had
disappeared. The morning walk matched my breathing and confident hiking. I can do it. The cool of a shady spot
held my senses. Peace of mind. Solitude.
With earth under my soles, I could feel the
space for inspiration intensifying to reveal story, to find the right words. Working outside the box. Sweat poured
along my scalp. A critique. I needed
water. It was time to turn around.
 |
| 2011 Linnea Heaney On the Bridge |
When I returned from my hike, my car was the
only one in the parking lot. Time to get
to work.
I turned onto the same road I took to the
nature preserve, where a sign faced me: “Road Closed Ahead.” Keep going. I’m on my own road and ready for anything.
2011
blog version withdrawn
MY
OWN ROAD by Linnea Heaney (Hunger Mountain: the VCFA Journal of Arts,
10.15.2012).
http://www.hungermtn.org/my-own-road/
