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Will humiliate myself for a pretzel rod

Posted on March 2, 2010 by Rebecca

Gryfe will do anything for his girl, and the promise of a treat.

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On today's walk I came upon this mystery. This is a new version of the mystery. In April, this rectangle of field was covered in black plastic and remained so for the summer. Are the park rangers killing an invasive plant species? Are they preparing the space to plant something new? When did they remove the black plastic? How long will it take nature to replant it so that it looks like the rest of the field? I came out from the trees and found this mystery that the dog simply trotted over. // This week I've been trying to let myself write, or relearn to write, or allow space to write, and sometimes it's almost working and on today's walk a few ideas finally trickled out that might help me untangle a writing knot I'd unwittingly tied earlier. How my own creativity works is an entire mystery to me. Sometimes I cover my thoughts with black plastic and incubate and sometimes I uncover and will something to grow, and sometimes I just let the dog trot over me. // Last night I dreamt I was hiking down a long, tree-canopied trail, which led directly through the middle of a tiny shop—a cabin, really—that sold nothing but Breyer model plastic horses, displayed from floor to ceiling and in every corner. And I was in heaven.

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