#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

“. . . All this might be easier if
there wasn't a song
still lifting us above it,
if wind didn't trouble

my mind like water.
I half expect to see you
fill the autumn air
like breath --”

Excerpt from “Redemption Song,” Kevin Young

I’m not sure if it’s mental, physical or spiritual, this tiredness I walk with this morning. November chill, the sun is behind sleek gray. The berries are cheerful and bright and the explosions of milkweed, gorgeous and hopeful. Still, the tenderness is there in my mood. It is about my father, I know this as I walk and try to feel him with me. It’s just raw right now for some reason. Perhaps, that in February, this will be our fifth year without him. So, this is another more active phase of grieving. I know I can call my siblings and find they feel just as I do. Also, maybe attending the memorial service last Saturday has something to do with it. Being surrounded by so many people from my childhood – all of us grown up. I take the tenderness indoors, it’s with me all day, but I go into my work and get things done. I revise the poem for tomorrow’s workshop even more. It’s in the poem, too. Aging and time passing and loss. Making a batch of my Aunt Virginia’s molasses cookies is therapeutic. I have not baked in so long! Her recipe I know by heart. Frank has asked if I could do something thoughtful for someone who works for him/us, and she has lost her dog. I know these cookies will be just the right gesture. So I make the dough and chill the dough and roll the dough into the little walnut balls and dip them in sugar then criss cross them with the fork and bake them. We’ll deliver them tomorrow. The house fills with the scent of cinnamon and cloves, and there is enormous comfort in that.