Mild warm spring rain in the woods. I ran into a man standing in the woods by the stone wall in Rocky Narrows by the river. He was about my age, wearing a navy blue Patriot’s hooded sweatshirt, holding binoculars. Aha, a bird watcher. What are you looking at? I asked, in a quiet voice. A barred owl, he said. Oh, yes, I’ve seen him, just a day or two ago in the morning, just here. Except he clearly knew it was a barred owl, and I had only guessed. I really was glad to meet someone out enjoying the rainy day in the woods with me. When the kids were young I would have spent this Easter Saturday filling plastic eggs with candy and buying treats for baskets. For some of those years, also readying decent clothes for Sunday Church. I’m so glad I had all those fun, busy, emotionally moving Easters. I am grateful today was a writing day instead of a shopping and basket filling day. I came home from my walk intending to write from an Easter picture from my childhood: the family all dressed up for Easter, a shot taken by my mother who had just succeeded in dressing us all in our Sunday best and bonnets and suits. And I’m making a very naughty face at her, spoiling her pretty picture. Instead, by accident I found a picture of my grown daughter, from Easter last year, and I decided to write from that and spent the afternoon working on this new, what? Poem, I think. We’ll see. I like to imagine the barred owl, awake tonight, hunting for food in the rain falling over his habitat.
