The Restful Writer: Letter #4 A Whimsical Fishing Lure

The Restful Writer series is designed for creative napping; a collection of fictional letters written by a woman fulfilling her dream of being an artist. Each nap-length recording lulls you into a state of deep relaxation, perfect for a creative reset. Letter 4 is about indulging whimsy and unexpected gifts from the sea. There is a musical intro, then vocals only until the music begins again, bringing you back to the present moment alert and refreshed. Royalty-free music by Fesliyan Studios.

Transcript

Welcome to the Restful Writer Series,

A collection of thoughtful,

Slightly rambling letters,

Written by an ordinary woman who moves to a small coastal town to fulfill her dream of being an artist.

I am that woman,

And these are my letters.

I've rented a cottage in the woods,

Within walking distance of the sea.

I spend a lot of time collecting things to make art,

But mostly I find myself just living.

Each day,

I write a letter home,

A simple record of my day,

Shared with someone I love.

I write about life at the cottage,

Wandering the woods and along the beach,

Walking into town to shop or have coffee at the cafe.

I write about making art,

Or at least trying to make art.

And letter by letter,

I am beginning to understand that just living is its own kind of art.

If it's alright,

I thought I'd just read my letter aloud as I write it,

Savoring the simple pleasures and comfort of a day well lived.

Thank you for listening.

May you find comfort here with me,

Maybe just taking a deep breath and listening to the sound of my voice.

Comforts and soothes,

And your body can relax,

Your mind can quiet.

Maybe closing your eyes feels good,

Letting your eyelids be heavy and soft.

It's perfectly fine if you find yourself drifting.

Today's letter is about indulging whimsy and unexpected gifts from the sea.

Hello my love,

A lazy summer is sneaking up on me,

The late afternoon sun spreading across the room like honey.

I am heavy-eyed and drowsy,

Feeling dreamy and fanciful,

As I sit at this beautiful desk,

Its mahogany wood warm from the sun,

Its half-moon shape curled around me like a tender embrace.

I pause,

Pen in hand,

Gazing out the window.

The sun hovers over the horizon,

The light glazing the stationary,

The color of ripe peaches.

With so much light so late in the day,

My mind tries to convince me that there is still time to do more,

But my body knows better.

It is time to relax,

To let go and settle.

I let the mellow summer light usher me into the magic of letter writing.

I watch the pens ink,

Kiss the paper,

The flow of letters joining hands to shape words,

The feel of my hand sliding across the page with ease.

In moments like these,

My letters seem to write themselves,

The words pouring forth before I know what I even mean to say.

Letter writing is often my way of processing the day,

How I figure out what I'm thinking,

What I'm feeling,

And writing to you always takes me home,

Where I am safe,

Comfortable,

And loved.

I have been in this tranquil,

Dreamy headspace all day.

I have felt like a wanderer in the world,

In my life,

And in my thoughts.

This morning,

I read a wonderful article by a woman adventurer who travels the world with the sole intention of sleeping in extreme and unusual places.

The article was fascinating,

And the photographs spectacular.

She is a magnificent storyteller.

Some people live such big lives.

I sometimes wonder if I should be living a bigger,

More impressive life.

But even as the question scrabbles across my mind,

I know it isn't a good question.

A better question is,

Am I living my life?

That's the tricky thing about comparison.

It speaks to a kind of measuring up,

When what matters,

What gives life its texture and meaning,

Is contrast,

Complement,

And juxtaposition.

One way of living highlights the beauty of a different way of living,

And each of us naturally gravitates to our own beautiful expression of life.

It's a gift that this lovely adventurer chose to share her story and give each of us the opportunity to see the contrast,

The way our unique lives complement each other,

And how the juxtaposition is a celebration of life and each other.

Reading about her big,

Adventurous life deepened my appreciation for my quiet,

Simple life.

But her story also affirmed my own sense of awe of nature and our connection to the earth.

Her story had me longing to feel that connection,

To anchor myself a little deeper in my own life.

So I went to the woods.

I took off my shoes and curled my toes into the damp earth.

Feeling grounded and steady,

I felt my shoulders drop,

My whole body relax.

The smell of the earth and moss,

Pine and cedar invited me to breathe a little deeper.

This is what nourishes me,

This simple connection to nature.

I wandered the woods for a bit and then made my way to the sea,

The path so familiar to me now that I know my way by the feel of the path beneath my feet,

Slowly turning from densely packed soil to loose pebbled dirt and finally to sand.

I paused at the top of the crest,

Where the path from the woods leads down across the beach to the water.

I stood and shaded my eyes as the sun glanced off a sparkle of bright yellow in the sand.

I instantly thought,

Treasure,

And ran to catch whatever it was as a wave tried to steal it back.

I was laughing out loud like a child,

Running in delight and recognizing that it is so typical of me to spot something bright and shiny and go after it,

Sure that it is some wonderful treasure and just what I need for whatever piece of art I make next.

And this time it was a treasure.

That bright yellow sparkle was the funniest little fishing lure,

Barely two inches in length.

It looks a bit like a cartoon character,

Huge bright yellow eyes circled in black make the poor thing look comically surprised.

As I looked a little closer,

The detail still visible was amazing.

Its yellow body,

Tinged with a bit of green,

Gave a distinct shadow of each fish scale.

Its nose and tail each have a seemingly haphazard red smudge of paint.

There is a small metal propeller at each end that makes it look more like a tiny toy plane than a fishing lure.

The hooks were worn and dull,

So I tucked the lure in my pocket and decided to walk to town to the mercantile and ask the owner,

Mr.

Doyle,

If he could tell me anything about the age of the lure.

I made my way back up the path,

Through the woods,

And turned onto the road to town.

The sun was warm on my back and a cool breeze made its way from the ocean to my cheek.

I hardly remember the walk.

I was so busy dreaming about what the little lure might become in some piece of art.

By the time I arrived in town and made my way to the mercantile,

The little yellow lure had been a million different things in my imagination.

As I entered the store,

A small bell jingled above the door.

I took a few moments to wander the aisles of wire,

Nuts and bolts,

Lock parts,

And fancy drawer pulls,

Imagining a dozen more ways to use the lure.

I managed to keep myself in check and approached the counter with just a few items I had.

I couldn't resist.

A small bag of clever little springs,

Two tiny drawer pulls shaped like turtles,

And a bag of mixed-size magnets.

As I paid,

I pulled the lure from my pocket and laid it on the counter.

Mr.

Doyle picked it up and studied it for a moment.

You found yourself a good one here,

He said.

It seems that old fishing lures have been washing up on the shore for years.

The locals think a supply boat,

Headed for a nearby fishing camp,

Lost its cargo in a storm more than 40 years ago,

And the lures are still finding their way back to shore.

Mr.

Doyle reached behind him and pulled down a thick,

Dusty catalog of lures.

He expertly thumbed through the pages and stopped on a photograph of a lure almost identical to the one I'd found.

It's a Smithwick Buck and Ball Jr.

Doesn't that sound impressive for such a funny-looking little thing?

It's a wood and metal lure,

First issued in 1959.

As Mr.

Doyle read more of the details,

I tried to appear duly impressed,

But mostly,

I was secretly relieved that although the lure is antique,

It isn't worth much.

I'd already decided to use it in a new piece of work,

And would have hesitated if the lure was especially valuable.

As I made my way back to the cottage,

I let my idea for the lure shift and flow in my imagination,

Slowly taking shape,

Like a pair of binoculars bringing something into focus.

I can see it fully formed in my mind,

An installation piece hung from the ceiling that will welcome visitors to engage with it.

Beautiful sea creatures made of fabric and thread,

And tiny pieces of smooth glass dangling above and around you,

As if you are walking on the bottom of the sea.

Every single piece will be an invitation to touch,

Feel,

Listen.

Ribbons of sea glass chiming as you move,

The fishing lure in the center,

The found object that brought together other found objects,

The center of the art,

The very heart of the art that lures you in.

I'm going to call it the flying sea.

Be well,

My love.

As I lay down my pen,

My gaze wanders to the window,

The open door of my studio beckons.

There is still more creating to do today.

I tuck my pen and paper away in the desk and welcome you back to this moment with me,

Perhaps stretching your arms above your head,

Flexing your feet,

Wiggling your fingers and toes,

Coming fully present,

Refreshed,

And renewed.

Reviews

I love these stories. Thank you 🙏

What a lovely letter. Your writing is a work of art.

Lovely 🌷

Thanks

Very soothing.