#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Winter Blues, Charles River

"Go to the winter woods: listen there, look, watch, and “the dead months” will give you a subtler secret than any you have yet found in the forest."
- Fiona Macleod, Where the Forest Murmurs

A chaos of helpers in the house by 8:00 a.m. and I have not yet had breakfast and there is clamor and activity and I escape as quickly as I can with the dogs out the door into the lovely, soothing, quiet, misted morning. It’s warmer, and the air is so moist, some rain coming. The snow is rained upon and melting. I don’t bother to put on my skis. I breathe into the shelter of the fog and thick air and release my stress. This disruption will last a while but not forever. The snow is an interesting canvas, and that’s what I pay attention to. And stop by the brook and go to the trestle bridge which is drawing me and look over the ice-melt surface in all shades of white and blue and charcoal and gray and it’s quite soothing, this sight. Today I have two afternoon appointments, but have the morning for errands. I am glad to be away from the house. I see my therapist on Zoom and get exactly what I need from this hour to feel attended to; I have clarity and refreshment, as I have the same from the river and woods. I feel misted and silvered and moistened by the attentiveness of Nina who has known me well and long. Therapy, a discipline like writing, the necessity of putting oneself in the chair to receive the goodies.