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Tracie Skarbo was motivated to write by her father, who was her biggest supporter. “He was always behind me, rallying me on with my writing. I would always see him with a book in hand. He gave me a great appreciation for the written word, and the power and responsibility that writers have to shape those who read their words. He also taught me to respect nature and to value the beauty within it; my reflections on my environment are just an extension of this.” Skarbo was raised on Vancouver Island and is working on her next two books.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Lazy Sunday Mornings

My father took my brother and I fishing on lazy Sunday mornings
When early pungent mist hovered over the water; like a second skin
Giving the lake a spooky visage and making me feel as though its
waters were eternal

We would have to traverse this wonderful old bridge that stood over
the water
It had big gaping holes that time had eaten from the wooden planks
My brother and I thought we would fall in sometimes, or that a
bog creature was sure to
Rise, drawn by the creaking planks protesting our weight
I would pick out one of the fattest night crawlers and put it on the hook with the utmost
Care; my little fingers pink from the cold dawn
I would fold the wriggling worm over upon itself just how my father instructed

I would request that my bobber be red side up, always a silly superstition with me
Red side up meant I would catch a fish, if not a fish then I would see something else
That piqued my curiosity

Then we would sit for hours in the quiet serenity, watching the bobbers and the water
Bugs that would skitter over its surface, I was always amazed at their grace and the
Way they seemed to defy gravity

The loons would call out across the water; lonesome with birdsong
I would feel so connected to nature during these times; knowing I had a part in it all
Grateful for this glimpse of oneness

I knew, even at this early age, that these moments were fleeting in present
And that even if I tried to hold onto them with two fists I would be disappointed
Time marches, kids grow, but memories last a lifetime

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