#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Here is the fern’s frond, unfurling a gesture, 
Like a conductor whose music will now be pause
And the one note of silence 
To which the whole earth dances gravely –

[Excerpt from FERNS by Ted Hughes

I woke up late to full sunshine and framed the day with ferns. I shortened my walk with the dogs so that I would have time to transplant ferns before going out for most of the day with my husband, daughter, and boyfriend. Into the city, top down, in hot bright sunshine to see his father for a half an hour before he boarded a boat for a cruise so his father could hug him and put his eyes on him after his surgery. And then a hike with the kids in Concord into the fresh water marsh in a wildlife preserve where we saw many snakes and tons of happy red wing blackbirds, and a muskrat and the biggest snapping turtle I’ve ever seen. Under the canopy of trees over the back roads home from Concord, I felt sheltered and comforted and warm and happy. Then, back to the ferns, squinching through the muddy wetlands of our property to dig some beauties up. And then I planted them where we can see them in the yard, next to the stone wall and the granite bench and the new hydrangeas. Where, from the deck or from my office window, I can see them wave in the wind. Walking back from the woods, the kids threw the frisbee in the yard, Frank sat in the late afternoon sun on the deck, and a barred owl called at us from a perch in the woods: Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you? We all stopped to listen and answer. And then the kids cooked for us, a delicious dinner of fresh scallops and pasta. And it’s dark now, the windows are open to summer, sweet sounds and crisp, fresh air.