#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
Farm Pond, Morning Paddle
A Time to Talk
When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don’t stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven’t hoed,
And shout from where I am, What is it?
No, not as there is a time to talk.
I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall
For a friendly visit.
The zipper of his suitcase next to my ear wakes me. He’s leaving town on business. It’s so early, but I am glad – not that he’s leaving. But, because I want to be out early in the morning. The chilled morning of almost fall. A text invites me to paddle on Farm Pond. Yes. It’s cool, yes, but it will be fresh and glass on the pond if I go. So, Charlie and Suzi get a shortened walk. And a promise: I will take them swimming in the afternoon. Today is a day of saying yes to time with friends. To stand-up paddling in warm conversation; to lunch on my deck with my dear friend just home from her summer vacation on Nantucket. We have raised our girls together from birth. And when my youngest comes in frustrated and sad about not finding the apartment she wants, my friend talks her through strategies with such comforting warmth and enthusiasm. I don’t say a word, I watch this magic happen; how we can mother each other’s daughters when the need arises. My daughter’s day is brighter, much brighter. And in the late afternoon, my dear friend home from Ireland and I meet for a chilly swim under a cloudy sky and a catch up of conversation, treading water. And Charlie and Suzi’s promise came true. There is more in this magical day - more. A new friend for a casual dinner on the deck, a deep conversation about shared interests: mothering, her professional role as a counselor. Art, beauty, writing. I walk her to the river under the darkening sky. And she leaves and there’s more: my poetry pals online, Randy in Mississippi and Marlon in Texas. We share our poems and prose. Theirs is stunning. Mine is a rough first draft. They help me see what I’m trying to write about: maiden and crone. What a day. I’m grateful for every moment, for the wisdom to make this time for friendship. The freedom, the wisdom to thrust the hoe in the mellow ground.
Entrance to the pond