#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
Tree bark near the swamp
. . . I like to think
that when I’m gone the chemicals
and yes the spirit that was me
might be searched out by subtle roots
and raised with sap through capillaries
into an upright, fragrant trunk,
and aromatic twigs and bark . . .
Excerpt from Living Tree, Robert Morgan
A week now, home, and happy to be so. It has taken all these past days in New England woods, inching toward spring, to feel captivated by the landscape here again, to feel that I could find what I love for my photos that are no longer beaches and birds, shells and stunning skies at sunrise over the Gulf. As I do every day, I have a favorite photo, one that makes me smile, one that brings an inner glow of warmth and optimism and appreciation, brightening my mood and my perspective, bringing me energy to step enthusiastically into the next moment. Today, the wet bark on the ground by the swamp, my last photo, caught out of the corner of my eye, this vertical/horizontal organic pattern, leaf on multi-colored bark. I took the shot and my battery died. My phone kept blinking on and off like this all morning. But, I got it. And then, on the trail through the wetlands where the brook runs I found the hearty beauty of the curling skunk cabbage, ruby red, early plant, cheering me up, immensely. Wet woods fed my spirit today. I walked for a long time. There was yard work, later. Raking dead leaves, trimming dead branches, cleaning up the winter detritus. I have been thinking of my mother, feeling her presence, and yet, she’s gone now, what? Ten years? Is that possible? I feel her so strongly I ask myself, why now, and then, remember, of course. She died in April. The anniversary approaches. It was April vacation, the kids were off. She died in April; my youngest was born in April, and we lived just down the street from her then and she helped me, always, so much. The youngest popped in, late this afternoon. She asked me to run an errand with her and I did and she kept apologizing, she was trying to buy a present for a friend’s birthday, and I couldn’t have cared less. I will run an errand with her any day, any time of day, if I can. I will be the mother some day who will be missed.
Skunk cabbage in the wetlands
