Crossed signals: I was supposed to meet my friend for a walk at Medfield State, early this morning. A happy accident, after all, as I roamed and roamed the meadows as the sun rose into the sky. There is nothing as spectacular as an un-mowed meadow, August, overrun with Queen Anne’s lace and black-eyed Susans and a spider web, dew wet and strung between tall stalks of meadow grass. The youngest drove away to grad school orientation. Later, just as I finally sat down to work on something to bring to my writing group tonight, my other daughter drove in with her dogs and we walked across the meadow to the river in the muggy hot early afternoon and we talked of her wedding and the mystery and unknown qualities of how and when it will happen, and we talked about a dress which I suggested might actually be a romper, a romper of white lace, and then we found some online and maybe she will try one on. I was so glad we had this time even though it delayed my writing; then I wrote the rest of the afternoon. Back to the essay on eggs. I get lost in the reconnecting revision. I think maybe I am making some progress. Although, I may just put it away and start another poem. I liked the old door knob on the door I found at Medfield State: a place of old doors, old doors that have closed. Keyless locks. How happy I was to have my daughter and our walk and talk.