Writing Retreat 2022: Wednesday

Cabin chic: a golden sun figure hanging on the outside wall
Cab­in chic

Today, after break­fast, I sat down and wrote about 1,500 words (I real­ly want­ed to get the man­u­script up over 39,000, and I just man­aged it). Then I read for a bit, and around lunch hopped into the car to go check out Big Valley.

A country road near Birnie, MB
On the way I found a par­tic­u­lar­ly scenic coun­try road

I’d nev­er been to Big Val­ley before, I don’t think; the place did­n’t seem famil­iar, and I think I’d remem­ber the very steep[1]Like, “This road is closed when it’s wet” steep. incline down into the val­ley. It was a love­ly lit­tle place. The stream run­ning through it remind­ed me of Skeins Cross­ing near Ochre Riv­er, because the water was cold and clear and all the creek­side stones were bro­ken shale, dark grey.

As I was pro­cess­ing the Big Val­ley pho­tos, my friends Karen and Ed stopped by to say “hi”. After they left, I wrote anoth­er 1,000 words in the pre-sup­per writ­ing stint.

Around sun­set the skies cleared, just like the weath­er app pre­dict­ed, and so I bun­dled my gear into the car and head­ed out for Spruces, near Wasagam­ing. On the way out I noticed a love­ly post-sun­set glow, reflect­ed in a pond, so I stopped for some photos.

Panorama: post-sunset glow (red and orange below, dark blue above) reflected in a pond

At Spruces, the galaxy made its slow way across the lake. I’ve got a time­lapse video but that’ll have to wait till I’m home to upload. For now, enjoy a cou­ple of photos.

I point­ed my cam­era north for anoth­er half-hour, and col­lect­ed some star trails.

Star trails above the spruces and the lake

Then I went back to the cab­in and fell into bed about 1:30am.


In her dream the sky was blue with per­fect white puffy clouds. The sun lit every­thing with a warmth beyond that it car­ried in spring­time. This was the per­fect sea­son, she thought, her favourite time of any year. Ear­ly sum­mer, when the days were warm but not swel­ter­ing, and the evenings were cool but not cold.

Her father sat next to her, so she knew for sure this had to be a dream. But it was her father as she’d only ever seen him in pho­tos: younger, his hair still most­ly dark, only just start­ing to go salt-and-pep­per. He wore a thin beard, some­thing he’d nev­er done in her mem­o­ry of him. Even in the home the nurs­es and order­lies had kept him clean-shaven.

When he looked down from the sky and caught her watch­ing him, she was star­tled to see his eyes weren’t the dark brown she expect­ed but the blue, instead, that her moth­er’s eyes had been. She blinked.

Mom?” he said, his voice hes­i­tant, like he did­n’t want the answer. Or he did, but he was afraid what it might be.

No,” she said, “you’ve got it back­wards, I think.”

Series: Writing Retreat 2022

The entire series: Writ­ing Retreat 2022: Goals; Writ­ing Retreat 2022: Mon­day; Writ­ing Retreat 2022: Tues­day; Writ­ing Retreat 2022: Wednes­day; Writ­ing Retreat 2022: Thurs­day; Writ­ing Retreat 2022: Fri­day; Writ­ing Retreat 2022: Wrap-up.

Inter­est­ed in prints of my pho­tos? Let me know, and we can work some­thing out.


1 Like, “This road is closed when it’s wet” steep.