#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

The simple fact of yourself... there it is... just you... no excitement about it... a very simple fact... the only thing you have... keep it as clear as you can.

~ Georgia O'Keeffe

A rust and blue morning. Rust, for what’s worn, dying. Rust for what no longer serves. Blue for true good things that will come that will surprise and revive. At the river, the heron is perched at the very edge. She is self-contained. Charlie wants to disrupt her. He barks and barks. His barking bores her. That’s why she goes. Up. And away. We go into the wetlands. It’s drippy, and rain. Wet feet, we walk and walk. Almost Thanksgiving, it’s bittersweet vines climbing the trail. I have an idea while I am walking, about the Chilmark poem I’m writing and have been feeling stuck with. I don’t get to sit down to it, today, but that’s okay. I feel something shifting and hope to get to it. Today I visited outdoors, with masks and socially distanced with my dear friend in the rain. Her dog ran loose in the yard and my feet grew cold and wet, but it was lovely to connect. A fire warmed my feet and the coziness of a Friday moving into the weekend enlivened the house. Today was a day for listening, paying attention to the people who needed to speak their truth to me. I listened, and this was me being the activity of blue, blue spirit of my morning walk.