Up early, onto the beach under the fantastic clouds, the blue hued cloud cover, in so many strange lovely stripes and puffs and streaks; I beat so many of the shell pickers and enjoyed the morning sand for myself, all the sand dollars freshly rolled in the surf. I walked to Longboat Pass Bridge, as usual, passing through Beer Can Island, which I visited so many times on walks alone, and now, have been here twice with the family to picnic; we’ve all seen it, and passing the stumps and broken branches and the tipis and the painted trees I feel they’ve seen this too and share it now with me. We’ve made memories, gatherings here, from the kayaks. I return home to write - I will write - I will go to my poetry group tonight with new work. I have a draft saved, and I spend time revising these post card poems until I must move on to a family activity. I doubt and I hope. Will anyone see what I’m getting at here? Tonight, they do. The poems are appreciated. I am trusting my process and making progress. The images from my walks are post cards for which I am finding poetry. Having missed this group the last, what? two weeks? I’m so glad to be back and the poems of others are rich and rewarding. I’m grateful to have these new poems taking shape; their promise of becoming.