#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

I call this Oil on Canvas, Trestle Bridge

Forget roadside crossings.
Go nowhere with guns.
Go elsewhere your own way,

lonely and wanting. Or
stay and be early:
next to deep woods 

inhabit old orchards.
All clearings promise.
Sunrise is good,

and fog before sun.
Expect nothing always;
find your luck slowly. . .

Excerpt from “How to See Deer,” by Philip Booth

I went to the riverbank on my property, rusty red with vines, and gazed at the unrippled river under the gray sky this morning. Always, I stop here. I stood for a moment, heard a loud splash, an animal immersion, and saw the short distance to the other bank a large animal, swimming, gliding straight across the narrow river to the other the shore I was standing on, a few hundred feet down. Above the water, the two antlers, all I could see of the buck’s body. He climbed up, out of the water, dashed away across the wetlands into the trees. I gasped, so pleased, so surprised. Now that I have learned that deer, quite commonly swim, they are strong swimmers, now I will see them, I think, often. A doe and a buck, all in one month. It was, after all, a short walk. And Charlie sulked. But I had my Wednesday morning writers. I brought a holiday writing prompt that sparked some wonderful, wonderful writing, some very emotional sharing, and laughter and awe. We ran over. We had so much to talk about today. Preparing for our open readings in early December; helping everyone make a choice about what she wants to read in front of family and friends at our pot luck by the fire. A lovely surprise when I arrived home for lunch: my youngest there, wanting to go for a walk! Exactly what I had planned, to finish the one I had started. It was raining, and I was tickled: she couldn’t care less about getting wet. In the driveway she spotted the sodden snake skin; I noted the figure 8 shape. We walked in the rain, slopping through the woods and she talked and talked. We share a love for Playback Theatre, and she told me all about a recent performance she and the troupe she’s a member of had in Maine. And we talked of our early years of training in Playback together, when she was in middle school, and started going to the classes with me. The only youngster there. She was so happy telling me all this. Indoors, we lit the fire and worked the rest of the afternoon, each on our own projects, and our feet were warm and dry by the fire.