welcome readers & writers! in this cyber space please find: + a photo writing prompt + a place to post your creative writing response (poem, memoir, short story or the like) to the prompt + a community of readers and fellow writers excited to read your writing + morsels of genuine fiction, poetry & creative non-fiction as the blog is updated. share a response as often as you'd like. everyday discoveries from my life, captured on film, will serve as prompts. this is not a place where we will critique one another's work; however, words of encouragement or praise for writers who share their work are most welcome. writers, share your story, poem or creative non-fiction response to the photo by clicking on comments; word count is flexible. cheers! demery

Friday, October 1, 2010


welcome readers and writers - happy october! many thanks to brian potopowitz, film guy and ms. brandon for your awesome posts on yesterday's photo.
it's photog friday again! every other day of the week the photos you see on my blog were taken by me. on photog fridays we get to gaze upon (and write about!) a photo taken by a pro. 
this week we have the pleasure of writing about another photo by the very gifted kelli west of kelli west photography. a thousand thanks to kelli for this gorgeous pic! click here to see the other wonderful photo kelli contributed to the blog (as well as the stories that came in on it).
writers, i'm so excited to read your response to kelli's beautiful photo ~ story, poem or creative non-fiction. 250(ish) words or less, just click on comments below to share. here's my reflection:
Today I'm wishing I could enter into Kelli's photo the way Jane and Michael Banks jumped into Bert's chalk paintings in Mary Poppins. I'd spend the day by this pond, paddling around in that shiny blue canoe, thinking on this worn, craggy rock. Then I'd slip into that wonderful boat house, which has been converted, you know, into a writing studio. It's painted a rich, creamy white inside with accents of nettle green and the palest butter yellow. There's a hooked wool rug on the floor, a shabby chic antique desk near the window and a big, deep, over-stuffed chaise lounge to sink into a little later, when it's time to fuel writing with some great reading. If it's chilly enough I might set a fire in the pot belly stove and heat up a cup of mint tea with honey. You can't see it, but in the shade of those leafy trees there's a hammock. Perhaps I'll pull on a sweatshirt and let the hammock cradle me while I doze off awhile, listening to the birds sing. This wonderful day would stretch out forever, until I felt centered, grounded, peaceful and like I'd made some great progress on my writing. At least I can go to this place in my mind :)  Thanks, Kelli, for the mini-get-away! 
writers, i love to read your work. come write with me!


  1. I was fourteen when I first realized that this place was special. Not because of the beauty. Although how can you not sit down and look across the water and be caught up in this place? No, this place is special because when you walk here and sit here and become a part of the place, you are changed. I don't know exactly why, but at fourteen (ok, it could have been fifteen or thirteen, but I was young) I breathed in the cold sweet air and listened to the gentle forest sounds. The birds and insects and drizzle of water flow. I felt the chill on my skin and shivered up to my hair. My thoughts went to different new places. My eyes focused on one colorful spot, then played on another. And then I understood why we are here. Like that. It happened.

    I left that year with this inside me and it stayed... this understanding. And when I come back every year it is renewed. And now thirty years later... this place connects me with my life and the earth and it all makes so much sense. I hope everyone can find a place like this. I wonder if we have to be young to be open to it... to sense it and accept it. I wonder sometimes if I had never come here, would I still be the same man?

  2. FAULT!
    It happens every year. Makes me so damn mad. I stand rooted here, doing my daily bit, sorting out nutrients from useless particles, being sociable to my fellows. I don't mean to crowd, but of course I sometimes overshadow a neighbor unawares, just as some of the larger folks screen direct rays from me. We all get through the summer pretty well, a few are lost of course, but hell, that's life isn’t it? Then as the sun sweeps lower and less frequently by some overly ambitious oaf, usually a maple I have noticed, sprouts a branch or two of bloodshot, carmine, crimson, like a blush of humility, the marooned whine of a pathetic ego demanding to be seen by the world, and next thing you know the whole rubicund tree is swaying in the breeze, proud as a purple peacock preening its plumage. I'm just crisping at the edges with a tinge of yellowed brown. Some people! Makes me just want to fall right down and leave.