#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Surprising myself, before my walk I spend an hour writing a poem I had slightly sketched a couple of weeks ago and wondered if I'd finish it. A love poem for my husband. Then, I walked in a bit of a reverie, sorting it out, seeing how it sat with me and what insights toward revision might come. There is rain, a steady sprinkling in the woods, and also the delight of the tiniest flowers beginning to bloom. Violets. Some fiddleheads in a froth.

By the end of the walk, I have in mind a couple of slight changes. And, by the end of the day, as I head toward my Monday night group, a few more changes have been made, and I'm satisfied enough to share it with my group.

Tonight, now, at bed, because of what day it is today, I won't sleep without remembering and saying his name, Kelly James Chandler, who died forty five years ago this day, April 30, 1973. Because he was only sixteen, and because I loved him, and because he loved me too, and he deserves, always, to be remembered and thought of by those of us who knew him, who loved him, who wanted him to stay.