#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
Bird’s Foot Trefoil
“I dream of a quiet man
who explains nothing and defends
nothing, but only knows
where the rarest wildflowers
are blooming, and who goes,
and finds that he is smiling
not by his own will…
~ Excerpt from Sabbaths 1999 II― Wendell Berry, Given
Charlie woke me at 5:30 or so barking at animals in the yard. Groggy and overtired, blurry eyed, I greeted the day for Charleston. A busy day. And a headache, a rare one, I couldn’t shake it. Frank needed a ride to get a U-haul to move his mother’s things out of assisted living, so I took Charlie and walked The Charles Link Trail on the other side of the river, eager to take and post my pictures for the first time in a week. But the headache pounded, lessened my enjoyment. But still, the buttery rich gorgeousness of the Bird’s foot trefoil fed me. And this morning, when I knew I would take and post my pictures again, I wanted to keep one part of my process: a blackout photo. So, I decided I will take, daily, a photo that will speak to me of my blind spots, and my desire to see into my blind spots, and not be blind to issues I don’t want to be blind to. In the afternoon, still with the headache, but having worked through it diligently, preparing material for three groups I’m leading this week, I watched George Floyd’s funeral on CNN.
George Floyd died at the hands of police officers in Minneapolis. A thousand miles to the south, in the Texas city where he was raised, two rows of police officers saluted as his coffin went past.
~ New York Times, By Manny Fernandez and Patricia Mazzei, June 9, 2020Updated 7:04 p.m. ET
Inside the Fountain of Praise church, Mr. Floyd, 46, the emblem of an international movement whose name has been chanted by thousands of people since his death, was remembered as the son, brother, uncle and father that he was in life.
~ New York Times, By Manny Fernandez and Patricia Mazzei, June 9, 2020Updated 7:04 p.m. ET
Tonight, I felt my spirit renewed as I started my newest 6-month Aim for Astonishing Photo-Inspired Writing Workshop on Zoom. And it was rich and rewarding to create a new community of writers, a small, intimate group. At the last minute, my daughter decided to come, and so her presence enriched the experience for me as well. My headache cleared, finally in the late afternoon. The buttery image of the bird’s foot is part of my cure for sure.
