The ever-lovely Beth Kephart has declared it Work-In-Progress day and she has encouraged writers to share small excerpts from things they’re writing or have written (and her own gorgeous words here.)
I’ve enjoyed reading through the beautiful words others have written or linked to on her Facebook page. How amazing to share our words and know we’re all working towards telling the world a story, whatever it may be.
So, will you join in? Because I truly want to read what you’re writing, if you feel comfortable and want to share. I hope you’ll post a snippet on your blog. Or on Facebook (if we’re not friends, can we be?) Then let me know, if you do. And spread the word!
And my own words from some kind of something, I don’t know yet:
“Ya see that white tip there?” His gloved fingers stretch out like they are reaching for a slow dance.
I hold the binoculars at my eyes and my eyelashes catch the reflection, prickly magnified spiders that graze the sky then butterfly kiss a brown tangle of branches. “Where?”
“Ya see the tallest tree?”
I move the binoculars away. I look out. I have no idea which tree is tallest. But I nod.
“Two trees to the left.” His fingers smudge across the frozen river. “That white spot. You see it?”
I want to see it, this thieving eagle. I want, desperately, to please him. I steady the binoculars. I search. For one white, feathered space. But winter is stained gray and brown and the sun film-flickers through the lens. The landscape rattles at my lashes. I see nothing.
“Oh look,” I say, anyway. “I see it.” Stolen wonder streaks across my chest. My terrible heart, the yawning cavity of a tree.