Linda Zajac

Yesterday, while running 6 miles, I took a spill on the trail as my toe connected with what was likely the only stone sticking out of the path. I went flying, landing hard, bloodying my knee and scraping my palms. It sort of reminded me of my effort this year. I've been reaching for the stars, but the stars are too far too reach. I picked myself up, wiped off the sand, and forged onward, weary and exhausted. Thankfully, my knee looked worse than it actually was.

I was wondering if I was away from writing for a week, would I miss it. As the taxi tossed us around on the winding bumpy roads we heard the sound of joyous tree frogs. Walt called them "therapeutic." It reminded me of a writing workshop I attended in 2005, so much for getting away from it. Every night after hiking and snorkeling we climbed 237 steps to our room at harmony studios at Maho Bay (I've posted a photograph of an eco-tent at Maho Bay). I loved the place. It reminded me of staying on a nature hike. I wish there were more places like this. Every evening we'd hear a chorus of tree frogs. By morning, crickets and songbirds would join the symphony. One morning this tree frog landed on the awning. The croaking was so loud, I searched the place, certain it was in the bathroom somewhere. The brave pearly-eyed thrasher would reappear on the deck each evening hoping for a handout. One day Walt scooped up a little lizard that we found on the bed and put it on the railing. I went inside for a second, when I returned the lizard was gone and the bird was sitting on the railing. I looked at the bird wondering, "did you eat that?"