#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Home to the river from a month by the sea I remember the shimmer of yesterday, that seatime, the roar of waves thrumming against everything but gulls, quiet, on secluded beach. The clouds, low on the horizon, ball of orange rising up, up over streaking purple, yellow, into blue heavenly.

I return to woods and riverview. First, pricked by bramble, ripping the brown smooth of my tanned calf. Air cold, river warm, mist rising, the lush green cloak of late summer New England. The wrapping of grapevines, and what I cannot show but tell, the fruity reach of aromatic grapes wild scent mixing with pine.

A year beyond the departure of my last child, the emptying of a large roomed house, and, on the horizon, in a week or so, the sight of two grown daughters sailing back into view, returning to populate rooms unchanged in their un-inhabited-ness. 

And, my husband, coyote, trickster, the great improviser, magician, saying yes to a future unplanned and unknown, always, yes.