#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

“. . . I consider life after life as treasures

oh it is the autumn light'
that brings everything back in one hand
the light again of beginnings
the amber appearing as amber”
~ Excerpt from “September Plowing,” W.S. Merwin

In the meadow, this morning, I find just the pink bladder of the campion. Seasons change, and so do I. The wildflowers in every season delight me. I overslept, and on my walk, lose track of time. Dogs, I say, we must turn back! And we go swiftly back through the meadow that’s over the trestle, and passing the acre of Queen Anne’s Lace I spot a brown butterfly flitting around. I want a closer look. I chase it into the waist high grass until, finally, fleetingly, it alights, long enough, on a fragrant dry stem for me to get a picture. I learn that it is a common wood nymph. It’s gone. And I rush home. I start the Wednesday morning writers this morning. I have my writing prompt and the poem we will read: “September Plowing,” by W.S. Merwin. We gather in the writing studio, window open to a cross breeze. Our host has picked apples from her tree and shared them around. Our fifth season begins. The prompt I’ve created is “September Then, September Now,” and the writing it produces among these women is poignant and rich and stirring. (Dear reader, if you would like to write from this juicy prompt, e-mail me at kellydumar@gmail.com and I’ll send you a copy tomorrow.) I’m always excited to see how the writing develops. And, I don’t usually write from my own prompts while facilitating. Today, I did. And tonight I crafted my raw material from the prompt into a poem I hope to take to my Monday night workshop to share. It’s very different from what I’ve been writing in some ways. I had the great good fortune on this marvelously warm day to take a quiet swim from my friend’s dock just after the workshop, alone in the sun in the fresh cool water. Fortunately, I got home in time to see the new husband and wife stopping by for a package. I ran upstairs and into the linen closet and removed a box I’ve stored since 1998 when it came into my possession. A gift from aunt and uncle: the wedding china that belonged to their daughter, my dear cousin Debbie who died far too young. I kept it for my daughter and never showed it to her, and trusted the right day, the right moment would come when I would give it to her. Today was that day. We opened the box together, she unwrapped the china, and found the gorgeous limoges rose-pattern saucers and plates. These were Debbie’s, given by her mother. And now they are Perri’s, for a new beginning, for a life after life, for a September new start.