Under a cloudy, glaucous blue October sky, Marian rides her bike down my quiet street at seven in the morning. Her long tan legs and neon pink hat stand out against the lackluster hues. It’s hard not to notice her. She’s become a familiar landmark, like the curves of the road she glides through effortlessly. Today, autumnal winds pretend they belong here, and Marian smiles brightly as she passes us, as if to say, isn’t this perfect?
I think about how writers return to the same subjects again and again, circling themes they can’t quite give up on. Is it because they haven’t finished learning what they need to know? Does Marian have something like that too? Something unnamed but steady, something she works through as she rides? Maybe she’s freer than I am.
I know more about her than I probably should. She lives alone on a corner lot with a lake view and a tree house that isn’t used anymore because her kids are grown. She has a library (with circular columns as shelves) you can see clear as day through curtainless windows. I’ve seen her on her back porch with a mug of coffee, hands wrapped around it as if she needed the warmth, looking out toward the water.
It reads as slightly stalkerish when I write it all out, but I’m just an admirer. I’m drawn to anyone who gives the impression of potential loneliness, but seems to enjoy it.
I keep walking. Marian keeps riding. Morning after morning, I return to the urge to write what I see. Write, write, write. If you don’t, where does it go? That’s one of my themes.
I’m waiting for Gigi to finish sniffing near the pond when I notice a great heron with its face buried deep in the water. It emerges with a fish, slick and struggling, tangled in bright green fairy moss. The heron wades to the edge, shakes off the plant life, and the silver fish shines. It lets it fall from its mouth, then spears it again with a single, practiced motion, tossing it up and catching it mid-air. I watch the lump move down its throat.
(Daily Writing 99)
Thoughts?