“The creation of something new is not accomplished by the intellect but by the play instinct acting from inner necessity. The creative mind plays with the objects it loves.”

~ C. G. Jung

Warmer and the river is once again leaning toward thaw. Melt is a sheen of slippery over the surface of the wetlands. I am at play, reading the ice, another day. Tired. But I wander anyway. Hungover in a way. Not from drink. From excitement, emotion, putting on the party, all the carting and carrying and hosting. I trust my energy will return. And, I follow my discipline, a short-short swim after the walk because I know I’ll feel better. And, I do. I have more energy after this play. What shall I bring to poetry workshop? I get out my notebook, I draw and I write, copy poems that I like and think, this play will help me decide. Then I realize, I already know. I will revise a poem I workshopped once: “Ripped,” about a riptide when my husband rescued some drowning men. I dig in. I work as long as I can; there’s still shopping and Christmas to get ready. I’m not very happy with this revision. But I think, it’s good enough. It’s as good as I can make it today. I cannot get to Cambridge in person. So, I join by Zoom. And I share my poem and it needs work, no surprise; it’s probably worth working on. Like the swim, discipline will drive me back. I am thinking about my New Year’s vision. Shaping some intentions for 2020. There’s a lovely quiet after Christmas I look forward to. Meditative, introspective time. I am craving some time to explore these ice images through collage. That is one of my intentions. So stated.