My spring odyssey across the American
southern states, up and around the east coast to Campobello Island, New
Brunswick, and of a flight to explore the Lake District countryside has my
writing cup overflowing. Still, I am slightly lost this morning. How can I hold
on to the feeling of absolute immersion into living in the moment? Only my
decision each day to the direction, the road, and the stopping places I felt
like experiencing . . . it was a rare opportunity. Exhilarating. Calming. And
grounding for a writer closely connected to the spirit of landscape. Oh, to
walk in the footsteps of William Wordsworth, Carl Sandburg, and Eudora Welty,
to internalize the sounds and views that informed those unique voices.
So, back to this morning . . . scrambled egg,
juice, bike ride, and I’m at my desk. I lingered too late to see the deer
family on Frost, was intrigued by the tethered pony on Hemingway, tackled the
Faulkner slope with tires needing more air, and stopped on the stairs to my
desk to look at a few of the photos in Pilgrimage
by Annie Leibovitz.
It is my choice to surround my life with small
journeys, books to revel in, writing early, and writing late. Is this the everyday
version of living in the moment? True, I must balance in regular life
activities. After all, I did need to do laundry even on the road. But, my
odyssey steadied the foundation under my feet so I can stay focused. My writing
life is living in the moment, spreading my thoughts and stories out through my
fingertips, writing by the seat of my pants.
