Today I’m introducing Zeke, the one feline in the family that has escaped my camera until recently. Whenever we would visit she (yes, Zeke is female) put herself into hiding. She managed very well in her slightly chaotic household until additional people and another canine upset her norm.
It wasn’t until our last visit that she allowed me to photograph her with glass doors safely between us.
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Then, on the last morning, as we were readying to leave, Zeke spied something that brought her out of hiding despite the turmoil of our impending departure. I still don’t know what it was on that hall table that enticed her out of her comfort zone, but she wanted it enough to ignore all of us and the camera. She stretched up and hovered there, examining new heights.
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She reminded me of our other family’s youngest canine, Cooper, who wondered for weeks why the Labradors often stood peering at a sheet of glass in the living room.
Then one day he ventured to leave the comfort of his four-on-the-floor existence and stretch up to discover a fascinating new world to watch beyond the window.
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I think Zeke and Cooper have something to teach us as writers.
Does our best writing come from the safe confines of the familiar? Or might there be new worlds waiting for us if we will but stretch beyond the limits of our comfort zone?