#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Morning Brook

Another sighting of sunrise through the window. And the meadow is frosted, inviting. I go out early and I am not cold, it’s too pleasant, so glittery. There is lovely ice at the river’s edge, in the wetlands, the trail itself is puddled with ice and the brook, and all under a brilliant, cloudless sky to brighten a mood. I am so fascinated by the Adrienne Rich biography, and I listen in the woods. At night, if I’m too tired to read the big thick biography: Ninth Street Women, then I put my earphones in and listen to the Rich. I fall asleep and have to re-listen in the morning. I have a busy day. I have time, though, to work on the wild blueberries poem. I may have complicated it. But I am enjoying working on it very much. Tonight I am very tired. My youngest came over, we were so happy to see her, and then she couldn’t stay because she found out she might have been exposed, indirectly, to Covid. I’m not that concerned. But it was best that she didn’t stay until we know more. I learned today my cousin has it and has been quite ill, and I’m trying to find out more. I woke up this morning from such a strange dream. I dreamed I woke up in the woods, on the trail I walk every day, and I had walked there in my sleep carrying my favorite sea shell. And the whole rest of the dream I spent trying to find my way home and keep track of my mask. What strangeness will I dream tonight? My pictures are making me feel very happy, very enchanted tonight.