No. The commas are in the right place. I’m here. Alone. Now. And this is a tense moment. While I’m staring down at the narrow, dirt trail and maneuvering a mine field of rocks, roots, stone outcroppings,
AND an occasional hilltop inhabitant catching a few rays
I’m thinking of rewriting a new project from a first person, present tense point-of-view. It’s a scary thought, one mirrored in my surroundings – a bumpy path fraught with danger, stumbling blocks, and unexpected surprises of both the literal and metaphorical nature. On the physical side, I’m being particularly careful where I put my feet to avoid tripping and doing a face plant like I did last year stepping over a low curb – for if I go down now,
I’ll have more than a scraped nose and fat lip to show for my clumsiness. As for metaphorically, well, there are plenty of obstacles – like the fear of my ineptitude. Although, doing something especially challenging is the mother of adventure, right? Awww, I should probably pay better attention to that rustling in a clump of acacias, rather than –
I step on Lucy’s leash just in time to keep her from barreling down the hill in hot pursuit of two deer. It’s so much more effective than nursing rope burns after the fact. We look on. I’m mesmerized by their grace and beauty as they prance through the high grasses. Lucy is drooling and sliding her tongue across her lips. One deer stops. If she were a car her tires would have screeched. She turns toward us, her stare saying, “I dare you.”
Then, as abruptly as they crossed our path, the two continue to bob on down the hill.
With the precision of a surgeon intent upon severing the correct vein in a varicose forest, I continue picking my way along the narrow trail, the middle wagon on our
three man two-dog-one-woman commuter train home. The sun warms my back as Lucy leads the way, sashaying along as if she were Scarlett O’Hara flirting with a bevy of beaus. I snicker, picturing her tail peeking from beneath a frilly, satin petticoat.
Jazzie brings up the rear, unaware that it’s not the caboose’s job to huff, puff, and chug forward.
The old girl is a walking battery and watch advertisement. At almost sixteen, she’s outlasted every Energizer Bunny in history and has proven that she can “take a lickin’ but keep on ticking” long after any Timex has called it quits.
We’ve come to the end of the trail. I’m still not sure if I want to rewrite my manuscript in first person present tense, but looking at the view from here
I’m certainly feeling better about it.
Maybe it’s worth a shot. You never know until you try – right?