Up ahead was a big yellow truck
That had come to a stop for a duck,
So I stopped my car, too,
And then out of the blue
Came a WHACK! Duck hit me, just my luck.

The web-footed goof flew right into my front towbar. There was a loud thud, and the car shook with the impact. But when I backed up a few feet, expecting to see a duck carcass, he picked himself up and wobbled away. He was quacking, and I was quaking.

Ooh! A butterfly just fluttered by!
But I’m homesick — the sight makes me cry.
I will spend one more week,
For it’s words that I seek.
They’ll emerge, if a writer am I.

I’m in the perfect little writer’s retreat, a cottage on Chincoteague Island. Of all times, why does writer’s block have to hit me now?

She’s petite, and she’s small, and she’s frail,
But her fish seems quite huge in the pail,
“No, this fish that you see,
“It’s not big, not to me,
“There’s no distance between head and tail.”

At our motel in Ontario, I wandered over to watch our hostess, a Taiwanese woman, cleaning a fish from Lake Saint Clair in a bucket. It seemed big to me, almost a meter long (hey, this is Canada). But she laughed, and said in broken English, “This not big fish — some fish big as I tall!”

I was feeling quite lost and alone,
“I can’t talk to my people,” I moan,
But then to my surprise,
When I look with my eyes,
I discover a free telephone.

I was sitting on the north side of the Coffee Cup, a busy truck stop along I-29 and US 12. For $1.47, I could drink coffee and use the internet for a couple of hours. But I needed to make plans with my brother, and I missed hearing Barry’s voice.

The next day, I went back to the Coffee Cup and asked if they knew what was wrong with the pay phone. An employee said I’d have to ask the manager. She led me around to the manager’s office on the south side, and there was a whole row of booths with free telephones. Woo hoo!

When I came, all alone, to this town,
I was challenged by Jessica’s frown.
“I will stay for a week,
Just to see if you’ll speak,”
And the gauntlet was bravely thrown down.

This explains how I ended up with a 1-bedroom apartment in Summit, South Dakota. The population was 267, but I’m making it 268 for the next week.

I am certain this meeting was fated,
But could never be anticipated,
When he strode ‘cross the grass,
I said, “You cannot pass,
I am certain that we are related.”

My mother taught me, don’t ever pass a rest area, even if you don’t have to go. So when I saw a rest area in the middle of nowhere off a 2-lane road in Montana, I stopped. I was the only human for miles. But when I came out of the potty, there was another car, and a man was walking up to the potty. At 10:30 am, my potty stop managed to coincide with that of Barry’s only uncle, Johnny, and his wife, Sooky, who I had not seen in 12 years. Johnny said, of the meeting, “I should go out and buy a lottery ticket right now.”