i teased away a little time for a two-week writing residency
in a secluded place,
an open space inlet
in the wildness
near point reyes national seashore,
at the pacific ocean.
left everything at home but--
my writing notes,
a computer and
cell phone,
to tell my family
“i’m okay.”
my writing shed had a picturesque view
of migratory water birds like
canada geese,
western sandpiper shorebirds,
california gulls,
elegant terns, and
great blue herons,
and even
large brown pelicans.
they mesmerized me, watching them from my writing shed,
gazing at rising and
lowering tides.
most days, i stayed there from morning till evening,
not writing much,
but witnessing everything
outside my window.
day-trippers visited the town center
on their way to the ocean and hiking trails.
svelte cyclists
filled the streets
on expensive bicycles
at this resting point for all those
weekend
warriors
who took to marin and
sonoma county’s
backcountry roads
to experience
gently rolling hills
rise and
descend
like ocean waves
pouring into watery passages
destined for the
pacific.
rising early enough
i’d witnessed the dampness and
the smell of fresh marine layered air
left from morning dew and fog fingers,
drifting across the tide pools from the sea.
but it was only
sometimes.
most mornings, groggy with half-shut eyes,
i rose only to go to the bathroom
then staggered quickly back into my bed,
into the cocoon of my soft, 100% organic egyptian
cotton duvet-covered comforter
pulled over my head.
comforter-over-head signaled
a long night of writing,
when words seemed to
spill
out
of
me.
the wee hours of the morning
found me
writing
until
6:00 am.
astonished, i asked myself, “where did the time go?”
wondering, “why is this my time to write?”
and not time spent in my comfortable writing shed with
pristine
views
of
NATURE.
instead, i watched trees shimmer outside my window,
loosening leaves
dancing in the
fall afternoon air.
and herons diving into tide pools for fish as
families of ducks swimming on
glassy waters.
and finches hopping among woody branches of rosemary
releasing their strong aroma in the air
when my jeans brushed against them on walks to
my shed.
on hot days,
smells of sagebrush intensified, and
purple verbena flowers burst
from their lime-green leaves.
my senses took in so many things from my writing shed
—plant scents
marine smells,
buzzing insects, lizards,
birds in flight—
hearing them as they foraged among vegetation and stones—
so, so many
distractions.
but maybe i wrote in my room at night because through my window,
looking into the darkness
there was no one there but me,
no other sounds,
no other smells,
no other moving living things,
only my fingertips,
tap, tap, tapping on my laptop computer keys,
and the rustling papers of five years of
draft,
after draft
of my ever-changing manuscript.
From Lizzetta: After a career as an artist, art historian/curator (MFA/PhD), I resumed writing fiction, leaning into storytelling, and conjoining visual art and literature. Recently, I discovered poems I wrote fifteen years ago, which encouraged my reentry into writing poetry. Black people in landscapes influence the stories and my poetic voice, which relates to nature and environments where Black bodies traditionally or contemporarily traversed. I explore their navigation in those spaces. In doing so, I also introduce poetry into my storytelling.
While I’m not a trained poet, I explore a variety of poetic forms, including haiku, lyric, free verse, performance, prose, and abecedarian. I’m editing my book, Seasons at Lakeside Dairy (The University Press of Mississippi), compiling a poem chapbook, and completing a collection of short stories.
Publications: Catamaran, Santa Cruz, CA, New Guard Review, Brunswick, ME, Rigorous, New Orleans, LA, Paper Nautilus Press, Enfield, CT, and away | Experiments in Travel and Telling, Oberlin College and Conservatory, Oberlin, OH.
All images courtesy Lizzetta LeFalle-Collins.
