#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Birdhouse

. . . But how do we fashion the future? Who can say how

except in the minds of those who will call it Now?

The children. The children. And how does our garden grow?

With waving hands—oh, rarely in a row—

and flowering faces. And brambles, that we can no longer allow. . .

Excerpt from “Of History and Hope,” Miller Williams

Stumbling, overtired, into a new morning, and my mask on and shorts and a t-shirt, into the backward upside season, into the woods, past the brook, over the railroad tracks and past the swamp and to the meadow, wide open, sunlit, warm, surrounded by trees and through the dried Queen Anne’s Lace to meet my friend. We cover so much ground with our feet and tongues and minds and hearts. I have woken up. At the river, the bird on the birdhouse. Patience, patience. And the moss, so slow growing, on the tree trunk. Patience, patience. There is, still, a mystery to be solved in this day: who will lead? Then, we must part. I take my time on the way back, I’m not hurrying now, and I can stop and see the leaf impressions on the railroad ties, the golden stencils. Leaves blow and fall and stick to surfaces, the rails, and it rains, and they are damp, and they disintegrate, but still. They were here. They are beautiful and gone. What a splendid day. I am watching when the election results are settled. I must have a nap in the afternoon, and then my youngest comes. She wants to have a bike ride, a ritual we began four years ago on election day. She has her trail bike in the garage. I get mine out, unused for a couple of years. The breaks are weak, the front tire needs air, it’s rusty, but fine. We go off into the woods in the sun, riding over the dead leaves and tree roots, Charlie running behind us. We ride to my friend’s dock. It’s time for another plunge, she wants to plunge with me. Charlie fishes at the lake’s edge, and we dive into the frigid water, splashing and hooting. Now we share a new ritual too. Tonight, with our daughters and my daughter’s boyfriend, we watch history being made. My youngest is tearful. She is seeing a woman leader like she has never seen one, not like this before. And she is full of hope. And there is still plenty of last night’s carrot cake to feed us all.

Leaf Impression