Trail Wood Journal, Day Three

We managed to spook the great blue heron, who turns up at both of the ponds.  Since it appears I will be having frequent interactions with the heron, I have given it a name:  Gil Scott. I imagine, thanks largely to my disruptions of it’s hunting process, it has written a poem entitled “Whitey’s at My Pond.”

I managed to snap a picture of Gil Scott flying away.  I would have shot video, but the heron made it clear to me it would not be televised.

It’s not easy writing in a hammock, but I feel silly not trying. Can’t believe it’s been three days already.  This is the level of focus I usually bring to Seascape, only one one’s around other than Lollie.  I think she likes it here. Lots of new sniffs, different grass to roll in. She’s not eating much, which is typical for her in a new place. The only dog ever that had to be persuaded to eat.

There is a lovely hammock near the house, which I have made great use of.  It’s not easy writing in a hammock, but I feel silly not trying. I have come to the conclusion that one cannot say they truly love napping unless they have had the experience of being tossed on the ground while trying to climb into a hammock.  You really have to want it.  

I can’t believe it’s been three days already.  This is the level of focus I usually bring to Seascape (my annual writing retreat), only no one’s around other than Lollie.  I think she likes it here. Lots of new sniffs, different grass to roll in. She’s not eating much, which is typical for her in a new place. The only dog ever that had to be persuaded to eat.

A new poem today.  Billy Collins has become quite the poetry teacher for me the last few days. I’ve just about completed the third collection of his that I brought along.  I got another idea for a poem while I was in the hammock, so it’s all clearly working for me. 

Later today, I will be working on a revision of my television pilot.  The International Screenwriters Association recently offered a free online writing class with writing guru Jennifer Grisanti.  I found her class very enlightening, and I want to bring what I have learned to my pilot and make it stronger.

After dinner, I was sitting outside sipping tea and writing this as the sun was setting.  I was scanning the skyline for bats, when I noticed a particular maple tree.  The tree was huge and it’s foliage possessed shadow and texture that created the illusion the tree had eyes.  But not just any eyes–indeed, it seemed to be giving me side-eye, like it could barely tolerate my presence.

It seemed to be asking me, “You’re not writing another fucking poem about a tree, are you?”