Earth Image Photography, Nature Photography, My Summer Office

5:43 p.m.-

Maybe I can lean over far enough to dunk the hair.

Standing shin deep in the river, my throat gives off a "uuh," and tells my head that the hair cannot be washed so easily that way. Move an inch or two deeper, current riffling my knees. Lean over again.

"Sissy. You know the remorse you felt Tuesday night back at home when it was too late to go back out and take a swim, how you'll feel in three months when it's snowy and frozen when you'd give anything--even EZ--to enjoy the luxury of pitiable discomfort by splooshing yourself into and under the cool flowing river."

So I dove. It wasn't so bad. Lathered my head and other parts of a body prone to need summer cleansing with the bar of Dial Pure and Natural soap Zip-locked in a nook of the boat.

Grand Sandbanks has a new--since Tuesday--thirty-six inch beach. I don't understand how the water here can be so low and, downstream in the Summer Office, it's three inches higher. Especially after yesterday's two inches of rain, which canceled the camping trip with Caleb.

6:02-

I am startled to see that the water level has lowered another inch since we got here, exposing six more inches of rocky shore to bare air. EZ has found something interesting too deep to get at, to her chest in the water, pawing-pawing-pawing, nose to the river, trying to draw near a rock or shell or maybe something drear. Her nose touches the river and sneezes, but she won't go under for it. She backs up, looks to me as if to ask, "get it for me?" The sun hid behind a pine and I wanted more of it (temperature is only about 68 today), backed off the beach and EZ, who's been patrolling for objects to pick up off the river bottom watched me with curiosity, retreating silently away in the current.

Blackbirds are collecting themselves into great black masses, began their congregations several weeks ago. Marshy wide places in the river seem unattended, then by the hundreds blackbirds lift out in waves, simmery whisking sounds, split seconds apart--until I think it impossible there could be more--more and more birds leap up and join the inky swarm.

Mailed off eight queries yesterday. My God it's an endless task to ready a manuscript for submission. Have worked on it for five years, intensively the last year, taking the summer off from classes. There is an ending yet to compose--I've been waiting for EZ to die, the perfect finale since she entered the book at the beginning. But she's gone and gotten well on me and dashed that idea dead. A few other details need to be explained and a hell of a lot of other possibilities want to be included but won't. It's a fun book and I'm tired of hearing that every writer thinks his is uncommonly great. And I'm tired too of being asked by publishers (in Writer's Market) to explain my credentials, make a case why I'm qualified to write what I have. A case can be made that first books, like first everything's, might be better than third or tenth books because there is no pressure to produce, and no rote slumber setting deadness into the story.

Classes start Monday. Physics and American Government, lab science and humanity, required university transfer credits. Am looking forward to both, Physics to learn how stuff works and government to learn how idealistically politics works its inhumanity upon moms and dads and children at the breast. I've heard the instructor conducts a lively class; I'm eager to participate.