#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Earthy feet

They are awake before we are, daughter and grandson. It’s early. It’s Monday. My daughter brings me my coffee in bed. I linger, trying to work on the newest poem which isn’t going much of anywhere. Yet, I try to say, yet. I have other poems for morning workshop and send those off. But the stuck poem is bothering me as I make his dipping egg. He has been out early over the grass with his bicycle and my daughter to ride the tennis court in his bright yellow boots. His egg yolk colored boots full of good dirt. I leave before they do. Run to Farm Pond & no one is there on the beach but me and I swim to the island and back. It’s cool. I won’t say cold, because I’m comfortable in this cooling temperature. Then I run walk home for workshop and barely make it back. I’m kind of wary about discussing my poem. Vulnerable. It’s a revision and last week it was a total mess. And it’s not really even the same poem. But its’ very well received. And I share it, with a few tweaks, in my workshop tonight as well and get a great response and some more good help. I’m relieved. This was a tough one to get to. And it’s working. I guess I can trust that the messiness of my newest one will get resolved as well. We are having a stone wall, a very old stone wall repaired, we hope. Frank met with the man today who came for an estimate. Frank and I discuss it at dinner. Frank says he asked if we want to be able to sit on it. No. We want to be able to look at it and appreciate it with our eyes. He asks if we want the centuries old rocks covered in long-accumulated lichen and moss to be power washed. Power washed!!!!! ????? Frank is a little surprised by the vehemence of my response to that question. Remove all their natural charm and beauty and age and history? Who wants a wall like that? The wall is a big project. A worthy project. I welcome it.