#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

“. . . This stick gives

A spring to your walk

Old sticks snap

This stick bends like a bow

You are the arrow.”

~ Samuel Manashe

You can listen to the poem here.

Why was it so hard to get a picture I loved today? We walked in the bright sunshine, over the trestle bridge, into the meadow and back. Lovely wildflowers aging into their dry season. Fiery sumac. I liked the heat and sun on my back. But I didn’t feel inspired. And so, on the way back over the trestle bridge I stopped over the Charles, as I often do, to take a picture. Someone sipped from a little bottle of Fireball Cinnamon Whiskey last night with their feet dangling over the river, drank it all and left it empty. That’s when one of my walking sticks fell between pilings and splashed into the river below. My wonderful walking stick – gone! I watched it float away on the rippling surface. I’ve had this pair for a year or more. I’ve worn them smooth, these sturdy, well traveled sticks. I love them both. I stood for awhile, watching the stick go, wondering how I might possibly retrieve it. My phone rang. My daughter suggested I come home because her sister was there to try on some of the dresses from my youngest’s closet. I took a last look at my stick and hurried up the trail. On the way, I picked up a few, trying them out. Too tall, too short, too weak, too rough. . . I found one I liked enough to try for awhile, and it walked me home. It will be some time before it’s smooth and comfortable as the other. One thing I know: I need two good sticks for these walking trails. And my daughter tried on a lovely beaded dress her younger sister bought years ago in London that she’s never worn. And it looks terrific; a mini-style, a flapper style, silver and white. And her sister gave it to her. So, then we went out, the three of us and bought shoes to match, a simple and quick procedure. Will she wear the dress? Who knows? She may change her mind again and again. We had fun imagining that she will.