Another thaw after Thursday’s downpour. The brook is overflowing the trail with ice water. Some risky and random patches of leftover ice and no snow and I am working on a poem about a June trip to France when I dipped with my daughter in The Ardèche at the Pont-d’Arc. I started drafting this last Sunday and left it further along than I remembered when I opened it today. Relief. It’s part of a new collection, I hope. It’s a rough first draft; not ready to bring to my group. [Break] So, I’m tired, up too early, but it’s coming, the poem; I leave this writing just to check on it, see if it’s still there, and I stay for awhile, I want it to be better, I want to know what happened and how to write it.