#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
. . . This is our time our season is now
the only time and you must wake and begin
to remember and to know who you are
you will come to remember but forgetting
comes on its own and you will try to tell what cannot be
told . . .
~Excerpt from “Autumn Equinox,” by W.S. Merwin
Awake early, but not too early, first thought: Autumn. And we go, early, to the river where the sun is rising above the trees. And we stop at the wetlands, take in the trees, reddening above the soupy grass that will be frozen in a few short months. It’s a hot morning, for late September. I shorten my walk at bit for an early doctor appointment. It’s nice to have my husband home working this week, so we see each other throughout the day for impromptu conversations in person. I must water the plants, the earth is dry here under the days of hot sun. In the afternoon I take out the poem I wrote a week ago; I will bring it tonight. I haven’t looked at it in the past week, so I open it and realize I can make a few adjustments. But they are fussy ones; one or two changes are just right. The rest is jostling things around and then, unsatisfied, putting them back. In the end, I make some minor changes. And it is well received, and the feedback is helpful. I will make a couple of changes only. On my walk today, I began warming up to my impending retreat: a trip west that starts Friday, a self-initiated writing retreat. I start with the Power of Words Conference in Scottsdale, where I will present a workshop. Then, drive to Santa Fe and stay for a week by myself writing, revising poems. A deep dive. So, I am thinking about getting ready. What I might work on once I lift off on the plane, head west. The first weekend will be with other writers, some friends, a conference community that’s like a homecoming. I spent some time imagining what it will be like and how I’ll structure my time and what I’ll discover in the land of enchantment as the cottonwoods begin to turn gold.