Tonight at dusk I wandered for a little while in the wooded park behind our new apartment building, where except for the distant roar of freeway traffic and the occasional like-minded, back-trails hiker I get to feel totally alone. I gulped in the smell of dirt and trees and berries and flowers, and I closed my eyes to better hear the crickets, toads, and wind in the branches. Once, a deer and I startled each other, and we both stopped to stare for a few moments before she turned and scrambled farther up the hill.
It may not seem like much, but these are the things that make me feel alive and rooted in something. These are the things that make me want to write.
2 Comments
This is going to sound very odd and very random but are you related to any Luck’s that lived in Cape Cod, Mass. or Florida or New Jersey?
Not that I know of…. My grandpa came straight over to Rochester, MN from England, and I think he brought most of his relatives with him. I’m finding that there are more of us than you’d think!