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Posts Tagged ‘lake’

Discover. Play. Build.

Ruth Ayres invites us the celebrate each week. Click over to her site Discover. Play. Build. to read more celebrations.

I have a new best friend. We met on the Internet through blogging, linking up each week with the Two Writing Teachers blog. We met face to face for the first time at NCTE in the fall. So when she told me she was coming to New Orleans to visit colleges with her daughter, I jumped at the chance to get together. Julianne Harmatz, her daughter Claire, and I spent the day together on Tuesday. I showed her some of my favorite things about NOLA, The Quarter, beignets at Cafe Du Monde, and Pim’s Cup at The Napoleon House. Julianne and I talked nonstop. At one point we were discussing birthdays and guess what!? We have the same birthday! I screamed, “Soul sisters!” I celebrate friendship.

With Julianne in Jackson Square

With Julianne in Jackson Square

On Wednesday I drove home to Mississippi to be with my sister and her kids to celebrate our mother’s birthday. All of us (brother included) went out to a nice restaurant for lunch together. Much talking, laughter, and fun. Here’s Mom with her Crème brûlée desert.

MomBday

My brother, Hunter Gibson, is a musician. He was featured in The Clarion-Ledger this week. Friday night many of us gathered to hear him play and sing. Jack, my 10 year old nephew, and I made origami with dollar bills for the tip jar. Jack made an elephant and I made a guitar. I celebrate creating with Jack and in giving to Hunter.

origami guitar

The sunsets are glorious here at the lake. I celebrate being with family, watching wildlife, and reconnecting with friends old and new.

June sunset on the lake

June sunset on the lake

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lake

 

Sometimes on the lake in June
white pelicans fly in together
and you get out the camera.
Then they turn as a drumline in step,
swim away swiftly in a cloud.

Sometimes on the lake in June
a lone blue heron fishes.
Sly step, long beak held high,
drinking in the sunlight.
A small boat passes by
lines thrown out,
catching nothing.

Sometimes on the lake in June,
I wake before dawn,
put the coffee on,
Sometimes Dad will join me
silent, reading the daily news.
Mom comes in pleased to have fresh coffee.
We sit on the porch, quiet
content to be together
on the lake in June.

My parents live on a lake in Mississippi.  I am anticipating my annual visit in June. This poetry exercise can be found in Kate Messner’s 59 Reasons to Write.

Diane is hosting today at Random Noodling.

Diane is hosting today at Random Noodling.

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Discover. Play. Build.

Ruth Ayres invites us the celebrate each week. Click over to her site Discover. Play. Build. to read more celebrations.

lake

I’m here at the lake
Quietly watching the day go by
Talking with Mom and Dad
Taking a walk in the morning breeze
Eating the perfect pancake
Relishing the gift of time
Lingering and loving life

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On the Lake

Join the Tuesday Slice of Life

I spent the weekend on New Castle Lake with my parents. I never get tired of this place. Every night the sun set is new and beautiful. There is a great blue heron that hangs out on the peer fishing and guarding. Canada Geese, an unwelcome invasion, litter the far side of the lake while a mother duck swims by with her brood of five in a perfect line behind her. This place is inspiration for relaxing, reading, sleeping, and writing.

Because I was at home for a book signing at Jackson’s landmark independent bookstore Lemuria, conversation often turned to writing.

At lunch on Sunday, my father offered this wisdom, “When you don’t know what to write, WRITE.”

Mom echoed that Hemingway said there is no such thing as writer’s block.

Minka, their friend and priest, said, “I sometimes have to write, ‘Stay, Minka.'”

We all value the time and commitment writing takes.

At church, I was asked by a former high school classmate, “What possessed you to write a book?” I had to laugh out loud at the question. As though to be a writer one must be possessed.

I am possessed by a love of language.
I am possessed by the belief that a teacher of writing should be a writer.
I am possessed by the story, the poem, the words that want to be written.
So, yes, I guess I am possessed.

The great blue heron guards this lake
standing on wrought-iron legs firm and tall
while his blue-grey wings fan the breeze.

Mother mallard leads her paddling through
the canal, picking at the grassy border,
feeding class for the day.

At sunset, I fish with my brother.
His casts are smooth and long,
Mine awkward and clumsy.

Cast on this side
Don’t release your thumb until you swing,
Fishing class on the dockside.

In the distance, a boat anchored with a father and son
creates a silhouette on the horizon.
We cast and draw in silence.

It has taken this long life to learn
fishing is not about catching fish.

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