A Pen in Hand

Eager for Monday morning, the reverse of what most people might feel, eager for getting back to that thing I was saying last week about this time. I’m two-thirds of the way through an essay/chapter called “The Way to Hold a Pen.” There’s more to it than one might think -- and not necessarily what it seems.

Went outside early this a.m. to fetch the newspaper to begin the day . . . The air was pink – that’s the only way to describe it – the air was pink – so I came back in the house and got on my shoes and coat – and I took a walk down to the pond where I go – it’s a little neighborhood Walden pond save for the occasional airplane overhead and the din of distant traffic through a barrier of trees – but then again, Walden was besieged by a train nearby, not so secluded as we’ve been led to believe – and so I walked around the pond at 7 a.m., before anyone in the house knew I was missing.  I saw a tree with a dozen or so worn out leaves, one leaf tottering at the end of each bare branch. It looked so comical to me at that time of the day in the pink air – like an old man with a few short hairs left atop his pink head.

But now I’m back and I’ve done my journal warm-up writing – so much longer than I thought it would be – and not about anything I thought it would be – but there was an idea for another thing I might use later – nothing is ever lost in writing. I’ve learned that. I might ramble and ramble about narcissus bulbs for example, and the need to get them buried in gravel today so they’ll bloom by Christmas, but at the end of all that rambling I see a thing I can use for my book – if not now, then certainly later . . . and so the walk and the ramble become worthwhile.

This is where I took a break from this blog to run back down to the pond, in a light rain, to grab a picture of the tottering leaves before they succumb – already less than I saw in the pink air of the morning.  The pack of men with their noisy leaf blowers . . . what did they think of the woman running with her camera and pen in hand? 

Now I finish the thing I was saying last week about how to hold a pen -- and I’ll file away my fresh idea for another day . . .