The opening lines to this year’s NaNo, “Swim, Swan, Swim” following a short poetic explanatory introduction:
The plain was grassy, wild and bare,
Wide, wild, and open to the air,
Which had built up everywhere
An under-roof of doleful gray.
(From Alfred Lord Tennyson’s “The Dying Swan”)
Tennyson Swan stood in the middle of the field, hands on his hips and scanned the relatively open space, determined not to let the fear creep in as he inhaled deeply, then yelled as loud as he could. The crisp air biting back did little to help his cold, but declining the invitation was not an option and time was of the essence.
“Lucas! Maddison! Nathan!”
No response as the surrounding trees that offered no clues. What movement he could see offered no sound. Tennyson remained perfectly still as the tall grass parted, not unlike the waters in Moses’ time. Why he thought of Mrs. O’s Sunday school lessons now, he could not say; his mind repeating the same silent prayer over and over again.