Ever notice that writers tend to favor walking as an exercise? Perhaps this is because of the solitary nature of walking. You’re not responsible for anything additional, like a bicycle. You have the advantage of quiet if you’re observing something. And you can sit down and contemplate the landscape, the people, and the weather.
I do my best to take daily walks on the Greenbelt, as the walking path in back of my house is known. Just a few days ago, I was striding along, jamming to my iPod, when I saw something jutting out of the grass. At first, I kept walking, but then I thought I should check to make sure it wasn’t something with a fuse. It looked strange enough to be a bomb. Upon closer inspection, the mass of armored-looking stuff turned out to be mushrooms. In the desert, a mound of mushrooms was growing under a skinny ash tree.
“Start with the day that’s different,” writers are told. Observation gives us clues on what that day might contain.
I do my best to take daily walks on the Greenbelt, as the walking path in back of my house is known. Just a few days ago, I was striding along, jamming to my iPod, when I saw something jutting out of the grass. At first, I kept walking, but then I thought I should check to make sure it wasn’t something with a fuse. It looked strange enough to be a bomb. Upon closer inspection, the mass of armored-looking stuff turned out to be mushrooms. In the desert, a mound of mushrooms was growing under a skinny ash tree.
“Start with the day that’s different,” writers are told. Observation gives us clues on what that day might contain.
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Picture: The mushroom bomb on day two, when there was enough light for a picture.
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