A six a.m. wake up call, from Charleston. He's quietly, persistently, whining near my bed. I think this means he's happy I'm home and ready to go for our walk. He would like me to prioritize this, in fact. He's had his breakfast. He's ready to go. So am I. I'm eager to see what's in bloom in the woods and the meadows since we last walked together here a week ago: Buttonbush and wintergreen are cheerful additions.
In this day of unpacking and following up on loose ends and goodbyes, I also find time to return to a photo inspired poem I was working on in the week before I left for IWWG. A poet friend, whose work I admire, gave me some feedback in writing, and I spend some time going through her thoughts and applying what makes sense. In this week, I have started to resolve, emotionally, the raw feelings in the early draft, and I work on it without the deep sadness and loss that I felt on the impulse to write it. It's a relief, of sorts. The raw emotion has resolved. It's time for craft. In this intervening week, I've also had the wonderful opportunity to be in Vanessa Jiminez Gabb's narrative poetry workshop, and I am seeing the shape and narrative of the poem with new eyes, and wider lens.
Late this afternoon I make time for a long swim at Farm Pond with my daughter. It's a lovely reunion: mother, daughter, summer, lake.