#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
Black Raspberries in the Meadow
It's a cheerful, delightful morning meadow walk on my thirtieth wedding anniversary. How grateful I am to be living here and now
where
the beaver busily chomps the tree in the vine covered brook all night long
where
beside the trestle bridge overlooking the Charles as I cross to the meadow, the cheery yellow common mullein is bursting into into bloom
where
in the un-ravished meadow, the gypsy moths have yet to hatch and devour all, the milkweed is fresh, unspoiled, visited only by the bees
where
in this town, thirty years ago today, I lived. It was an overcast Saturday, slightly cool, just like this
where
all this Junely activity of plants, bees and beavers was happening, just like it is today
where
I was busy - oblivious - to this thrumming backdrop
where
in between dressing for my wedding ceremony I was packing to leave New England
to pull up my roots to make a new home with my new husband in Florida
only
almost eight years later, to return with my husband, my children, to plant ourselves, to root and grow our new home on the river
this place
where
I belong to the meadow, the river the woods
