#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

This evening's Charles River View

In the pre-snow morning, my daughter and I walked in the chilly woods. I have no pictures from this first walk, only the evening – the do-over walk – because this morning I fell into the freezing swamp trying to get a picture of the lovely purple grasses lying flat on the surface. Frances had just pointed them out as we were walking by. Oh, they were still and bright, purplish and green, scores of them in lines criss crossing each other in wonderful patterns. Irresistible. I stepped onto a log to crouch and get closer, but the log was coated in ice, and I slipped and fell up to my shoulders! Swamp woman, I clumsily climbed out. We walked quickly home, laughing as my legs stiffened. Home safe and sound soon enough. 

After dinner, she coaxed me out again, and all of us went, the dogs, my two daughters, one boyfriend, my husband, my father-in-law, and Suzi & Charlie over the snowy yard to the dusk blue river, hoping to have a beaver sighting, but the river was untroubled by any swimmers tonight, and there was certainly enough pleasure taken in that.

I finished the first (rough-rough) draft of my longish essay I've been piecing together for some weeks. This was a pleasant surprise. Soon, the re-drafting, all the revision, will begin. 

Somebody on Twitter tweeted something like this yesterday and it floored me, I felt cracked open and untethered:

There are hundreds of genres women writers have yet to discover. 

All photos and text ©Kelly DuMar