Mud Soup - The Lake on a Gray Winter's Day

Into each life some rain must fall, some days must be dark and dreary.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Gray, dreary, and cold days have visited us lately. Bob and I stole 24 hours and drove out to the lake on Saturday. We found the brief respite, in spite of the same weather, most welcome.

Our buddy the osprey greeted us from his perch on the rope swing.


The Llano River had flooded with all the rain bringing lots of silt downstream. Chocolate milk. Glad it's winter as I wouldn't stick my toe in that mix. I'll wait for it to move on down and settle. No seeing the bottom for a few days.

The water so still the Man Wall gave off a perfect reflection.

With the wind chill in the 20's (yes, I know we are sissies) I didn't spend much time talking to my trees. They seemed a tad frozen anyway. Eyes glazed open. No napping in the hammock on this cold day.

Bob worked on a presentation for Monday.
I did nothing.

Six more weeks of winter. I'm ready for it to be over - the flowers to bloom. The grass to green. The water to clear and the sun to shine. Dreary days. I love them every now and then, but I'm ready to save money on the heating bill.

How To Waste TIme When the Words Don't Flow

I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by.

Douglas Adams

This weekend, while hiding from my computer and the thousands of words not yet written in my Nanowrimo quest, I buried myself in the quiet of my hammock. A book, filled with words from one more studious and dedicated than yours truly, aided my escape.

Movement caught my eye. Something fell into the water, just beyond the edge of the dock. I looked up to spy an osprey, perched on the top of the rope swing. A fish clamped in the talons of its thick legs. Lunch.



The fish appeared quite unconcerned. (Perhaps its demise occurring before the arrival at my house.) I watched with curiosity, unsure if the unpleasant butcher of a poor crappie might force me inside to my computer. But the osprey matched my silence and proved a most patient eater taking delicate bites of his prey as though enjoying the view while he lunched at the lake. Quite particular about which morsels to eat, he dropped the unwanted into the water below. No doubt another in that food chain gathered nourishment from there.

I forgot about him after a while, engrossed in the pages I read, only glancing now and again to see how much longer he might be. Seemed in no hurry. Just like me - getting back to my novel-in-progress, somewhere in the word count.

My own bird chirped from up on the porch, my husband having put him out on the table to enjoy the day.



As to my Nanowrimo progress? My main character is no longer wandering in the middle of a prairie. She is further along the road to trouble. The tension grows. The road goes on with frequent detours.

I'm very good at distracting myself with any number of fascinating projects, including keeping time with your average, every day neighborhood osprey. Incredible sight.

Hope he does the dishes when he's done.
(sorry for that one.)

How goes the battle for the rest of you?