#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Frost at the River

My daughter is leaving for yoga and Wave clings. Until I say there is very possibly ice on the river’s edge. That’s all it took. On with his pants, shirt, socks, boots, he opens the door and is out with me rushing to catch up. When the ice comes, and the frost comes, there’s a new life in the wetlands. I get him a stick from my thousands in piles, a strong one for smashing ice. There’s a glassy edge. Charlie, he loved licking the ice on mornings like this, and I would punch a hole in the ice so he could drink. Wave punches holes for the fun of it. Me too. We go around the river’s edge and stop at various points to break ice. Two V’s of mallards skim and rise over the water quacking. We go into the wetlands and into the shallow water in the cattails and weeds and humps of grass pretending we are crossing a jungle. He’s getting hungry, I bet. Wouldn’t eat before we came out. I brought a baggie of fresh fruit and he wolfs it down. Not enough. He gets cranky with hunger and cold and we soon go back in. Frank makes him a bagel with extra cream cheese and he settles down. I got to poems. It’s a good day to work on poems and I make good progress. I have poems for workshops this week. And energy left to make a lasagne. Meal by the fire. More poems tonight. The nice feeling of a holiday of relaxing ahead.