Linda Hoye's Blog, page 73

Retreat

Oh, hello. Remember me? Just popping in to say good morning. I’ve been on writing retreat this week. It’s been delicious to pull back and focus on the work. I’m getting clarity with Presences of Absences as I continue to weave the tapestry of a story about learning to listen. It’s hard, satisfying work and it makes

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Five Minute Friday – Willing

I’m joining in with a group of writers for Five Minute Friday where we’re given a prompt (this week it’s WILLING) and write for five minutes about it. I’m sitting in bed reading. The door leading from our bedroom to the deck is open. Cool fresh morning air fills the room and birdsong is the first

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Morning Comes Early

The day starts one way and ends another. As it winds down we sit in the hot tub talking about important things like clouds and the garden and some other less important things too. I watch the daisies dance in the breeze. It’s getting dark by the time we come in the house and I’m startled

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The Power of Words—and more rain

And . . . it’s raining. It’s a strange summer that’s unfolding. I spend time organizing my manuscript, my writing paraphernalia, and recipes because I’m setting intentions in the kitchen too. I’m letting the book rest for a few days, anticipating an opportunity for concentrated focus time soon, and the opportunity to putter at home

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Gathering Rosebuds

Summer’s back. I printed out the fourth draft of Presences of Absences, bought new colourful highlighters, flags, and post-it notes, and am heading into a different season of writing and editing away from the computer. Perfect timing. Because it’s time to sit on the deck and watch the finches, and on the grass in front of

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Coding

It was classic. Look to the left, look to the right, at the end of this program only one of you will be here. The instructor was right. Of those who sat in the classroom on that first day only a relative handful walked across the stage to receive a diploma two years later. I was

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Sehnsucht

The rain. The rain. I wake again to cool morning air in the room and the sound of rain falling. Gerry throws open the curtains and there is gray outside. There is a pouch of something just under my solar plexus. Panic maybe. So keenly do I feel the passing of time and the absence.

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Rainy Day

It’s the wettest start to summer I can remember. Gloomy, but the garden seems to be enjoying it. The gardener, less so. According to the weather forecast, I’ll spend the day with words—writing, reading, with maybe a trip to the bookstore thrown in somewhere. Not a bad way to spend a day. # # #

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In the Balcony

I’m coming out of a store when I see my mother standing on the sidewalk. Not really, she’s been dead for thirty-four years, but there’s something about the woman’s frame, her pink cotton blouse, the way she styled her hair, and the softness of her throat that reminds me of my mom. It’s like someone

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Words

I’m still thinking about seasons, and the unexpected rewards and challenges that come with change, and something I read in my morning meanderings gives me pause. Contentment. The word seems bolded in the essay but the emphasis is in my mind alone, and I realize I’ve drifted and need to correct course. Trust. That’s another one,

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