#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

“I seem to be on a road, walking, greeting the hedgerows, the rose-hips, the apples and thorn. I seem to be on a road, walking, familiar with neighbors, high-handed with cattle, smelling the sea, and alone. Already, I know the names of things. I can kick a stone.” 
― Annie Dillard, Holy the Firm

Rose Hips

Last night's rain stopped before I woke, but it washed the meadow, leaving a lovely wet on all the blazing leaves and buttonbush balls about to crumble, and all the lacy threads drying crazily in the field. Yesterday, all I seemed to see was yellow, and today, I see all red - red in the rose hips by the side of the dirt road leading through the meadow. It seems it was hardly summer, and now, it's fall so soon. How strange it is to walk this day away from impending storms, unstoppable forces, ferocious threats against a place I once lived, (where two of my children were born, where friends and family still live). How strange it is to walk in peace, surrounded by everything once robust, now in decline – all these seeds that took a chance to flower and hold, to slowly, and so delicately, let go.

All text and photos copyright Kelly DuMar 2017