Thursday, March 15, 2012

Timed Writing: 3/15/2012

Time: 10 minutes
Source photo: Llanberis Lake by Kathleen Williams

A shadow crossed the wood floor, but in the instant it took me to rais my head, whatever had cast the shadow had moved on. Then I heard pattering on the boardwalk that ran from the cabin's door to the swimming hole. It sounded too heavy to be the paws of Bart, my black labrador retriever, but I peeked around the corner into the kitchen, confirming that Bart still lay in his over-stuffed bed by the wood stove.

I'd been working inside all morning and thought a breath of air would do me good, so I slipped on a pair of rubber clogs and opened the back door, expecting to see the retreating tail of a deer, or possibly one of the children from the neighboring farm. I didn't see anything, but the rapid footfalls on wood planking continued, presumably coming from the lower section of the boardwalk, which was not visible from the porch. I followed the sound, but when I reached the first set of stairs and had a view of the rest of the path to the river, there was nothing -- or no one -- to be seen. All was silent.

I stood looking at the water for a few moments, the dark green-gray surface, beneath which cut-throat trout and the occasional steelhead swam. I was about to return to my work in the cabin, when something struck the water with a tremendous force, sending waves splashing in all directions from the center of the swimming hole. I hadn't seen anything fall. I would have, if there'd been anything -- I'd been staring straight at the point of impact -- but all I'd seen was a sudden displacement of the water, and then an indistinct cloudy shape, larger than a man -- maybe the size of a cow -- sinking into the churned up river silt. Or maybe it had just been frothed water and bubbles that I'd seen. In only a few seconds, all that remained of the disturbance were ripples on the surface and a increase in the opacity of the brown water.

(about my timed writing exercises)

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