“We are making photographs to understand  what our lives mean to us.”

– Ralph Hattersley

Another bright morning through the windows left open to sound and light. And Charlie’s early barking away wild animals in the woods before light. I wake long enough to worry for a moment or two and begin to feel irritated for Frank, up early, letting him out to bark crazy. Then I think: who cares? Let him bark and I am back to sleep for a summer Sunday morning. Awake for my poem. Now, I am liking it. And I spend some time tweaking it. As usual, the idea I thought about yesterday is a minor change, the shifting a a sentence fragment and here it is. Now it feels right. Now I feel more honest. More clear to myself; is it clear in the poem? We shall see Monday night. I read e-mail, including a Gail Mazur poem that begins with dragonflies published in “Poetry Sunday” blog, “The Bay” -

Dragonflies mating in the greeny shade
of the tamarisk, their brief lives unfettered.

Then I write my weekly Aim for Astonishing blog about a photo of my daughter when she and I walked in the Cottswolds one July in 2012; a favorite memory revived that I will write from this week. I go out into my meadow with the walking sticks as usual and notice the swarms of dragonflies. I set down my sticks so I can try and get a picture. Then three of them quickly land on my sticks! I am glad to know something about my sticks is attracting them - I have no idea what. It’s another very hot day. We go over the trestle bridge and through the wild grapevine portal under a sunbeam. My mood is summer eased and easy. My body is tired from swimming and gardening and walking so much. But I keep going. Summer is so short, July nearly over, I want every second of it enriched. In the yard I water what’s thirsty. My poor collapsed milkweed stem with three pods. I water it anyway. I have a number of plants, some hosta and rhododendron to plant in a very fussy mostly shady spot under a fabulous tree where the granite steps climb. Every year, I try new things. The deer made a meal of the rhododendrons last winter, they try to live through it. I overheat myself, but I finish. Later, I fall into a fabulous nap with the doors open to a breeze and awake refreshed to go and buy more plants! I come home and move rocks I’ve been meaning to move and wish Frank was here to help. I am determined to finish this challenging shaded area to my satisfaction. Tomorrow, new plants will go in and a new poem goes to workshop.