Nothing Wasted

Quarry Brook flows past

me sitting on a bank

right into the Atlantic Ocean

as I rub the dogs belly.


Brook Trout and a muskrat swim by.

Spotted Sandpiper. Tail bobbing.

Rising falling breeze. Hush of green

leaves filtering noonday sun.


Nothing is wasted in this perfect movement.

I tell myself not to measure or write it.

Know it. Remember it. That’s all.


But of course, I’ve gone and written it down.




2 thoughts on “Nothing Wasted

  1. Thanks for this Joy. Writing is a long dry struggle these days (though struggle isn’t the right word). On the one hand I’m resistant to reducing or trying to capture wordless moments – in words! On the other, I wonder if such personal glimpses of experience are really very relevant or interesting to anyone else. The pieces I finally do write down just seem to insist… and that’s okay.

    I must say, I thoroughly enjoy your writing. I was missing it on the News Feed (because I don’t pay attention to my feeds) and wishing that I could subscribe via email notifications, but now I also realize that cleaning everything off of my Reader but things I actually have interest in will probably work.

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