#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
“ . . . This earth
is not a wheel, it is a rock
that erodes, mountain by mountain.
And I have been too soft,
like sandstone, but there is a point
where I stand without a story,
immutable and moved, solid
as a breath in winter air. . . ”
There is a point in the day – because we are still on an island, because we still have these hours, because we have choices of how to spend minutes, because it is not sunny, it's cloud heavy and humid as can be – that I am asked, by my daughter, will I go for a walk to the beach – take, not my first, but a second walk, and swim under the clouds among the rocks with her in the rain? I have already showered once, rinsed all the sand from my feet, toweled and dressed to be dry and warm indoors, to answer e-mails and send e-mails and be busy with my computer. Yes, I answer. Yes, there's no point in not going. There are so many days for being dry. I will go. And after a dripping wet walk, long, in the sand with the dogs, we wade into Vineyard Sound, it's pouring now, all over our wet heads bobbing in the fresh flat surf. Summer rains while we swim in the salty sound.
All photos and text ©Kelly DuMar 2018 unless otherwise attributed