#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
Surprise––after the supermarket, packages are left on the ground in front of the garage. If I hadn’t seen them they would have been left out all night. I have groceries to unpack and mail to sort and chicken to bake. But one of them is for me. The chocolate box, carefully packed in cold storage in an insulated box. Sweets. It’s from John Muro, the poet who asked me, after seeing my image, Tree Joy, in a literary journal, if he could use it for his upcoming book, published by Kelsay Books this month. It’s so special to be appreciated. I told Wave, after his dinner that he could choose one or two. I made the mistake of leaving the box open and near him. Half-eaten, he put the fifth one back into the box. Frank called! First thing this morning, having ridden from New Mexico to Sedona. We had a brief chat and it was so so nice to hear his voice and learn that his days in the remote wilderness of New Mexico on horseback with my son and a guide had gone wonderfully. Hooray for them. I can’t wait to hear all about their adventure. We got Wave out the door despite his bad night of sleep. With pancakes. I had an acute bout of frustration in poetry workshop. Not with a person, not with myself, but with the process and all the emotions that surface when working on a manuscript. Not self doubt. Just a clamor of conflicting voices. Led my Ukrainian group and it was nice to keep our connection up monthly. Oh! And another afternoon swim. With rain predicted for tomorrow and then colder days. I could not resist and was so glad I went. Water not cold. Was it cold? I didn’t notice. The sun was out. And I had a jumble of things in my mind by my arms and legs and lungs were focused on moving through pond water. My swim, not the least frustrating or confusing. Completely satisfying. Today is a terrible two-year anniversary. I thought of that quite a bit. And, also arriving in the mail, happily, sadly, Jennifer Martelli’s latest book of poetry. I thought I had bought it last spring and couldn’t find it in my stacks and stacks of poetry books. So I bought it last week in memory of her. Sigh. Frank home tomorrow, and the good rain is coming.