My book, Buoyant – What Held Us Up When Our Bodies Let Us Down, is at the designers.
After final edits, we are off to the printers, with publication set for late summer, both in paperback and eBook.
Thank you for your early enthusiasm, and to those who offered to tell your local bookstores.
Preorders are available now!
The cover will use one of my photos, Sunrise Ice on South River.
Meanwhile, here is another passage to whet your appetite.
Chapter 2, excerpt:
I lower my kayak off Janet’s dock into water tinged brown after runoff from recent rains. Around us, red-winged blackbirds squeak, pipe, and whistle from the phragmites on this balmy afternoon. Though I hold the kayak steady, Janet hardly needs my help. With the confidence of a lifetime boater, she steps in and sits on the bow seat, trim in tan capris, sun hat, and life jacket over white shirt, camera hanging around her neck. No need to hand her a paddle. Her light weight makes it easy for me to manage the boat myself.
Pushing off, I aim us down the left side of Harness Creek, where branches of sycamore, oak, sweet gum, and holly shade us with lush greens. A pair of mallards preens on a partially submerged log.
Janet and I absorb the day, letting the breeze gather and swirl our hair, the sun warm our hands, the scent of late summer lift us beyond our personal realities. Janet turns to watch a black swallowtail skim by, and I see her crooked smile, her face an amalgam of scar and bulge.
My fatigue builds and I barely dip the paddle as we meander to the cove. There is no need for speed, no place to go but here. I try to be present, but my mind spirals like the brown oak leaves floating on the water’s surface, vulnerable to the whims of wind and tide. How did we get to this time in our lives when our futures are so uncertain, our paths such a mystery?
More soon …
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