On Sodom Pond

Postcards from rural Vermont

After Writing

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IMG_20140427_172056735The forest air is cool on my cheeks. My heart skips as I walk, moss and pine needles soft under my boots. Tree limbs squeak and sigh.

Who else but other writers can tell you, “She’s holding two lattes on page 3 but then she’s handing her a hot chocolate…”

“Can you sop up spilled coffee?”

“You might need another cue so we know she’s entering a parallel universe….”

And who else but that ginger-haired gentleman bakes a tray of blueberry muffins and leaves it on the table then gallops off and leaves you to your writing group?

Sunlight through the trees. It’s 5:00.

The faint faraway peep-peep-peep of a nuthatch.

After writing, everything is hopeful again.IMG_20140427_172658791


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