#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
Awake: sunrise, the meadow, lupine, the sky
after so many misty, cloudy mornings I am up for the sunrise over Lake Damariscotta, golden bath of morning, sounds of owls and loons and songbirds calling morning blessings. Walking where my instincts take me, sauntering, as Thoreau would say, I find a meadow down an unexplored road, a house nearby, and all this purple lupine springing untended and ravishing under the cloud clearing morning. In the grass, an old leaf - age and youth. A sweet fiddlehead by the side of the road. In the country of the pointed firs.
“The thing that teases the mind over and over for years, and at last gets itself put down rightly on paper — whether little or great, it belongs to Literature.”
