#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

In drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy brook,
Thy bubblings ne'er remember
Apollo's summer look;
But with a sweet forgetting,
They stay their crystal fretting,
Never, never petting
About the frozen time.

~ Excerpt from John Keats, “In Drear-Nighted December”

No rush, except for the brook. The brook is rushing, rain-rushed and over the trail. All the snow is over and gone, the ice too, and the brook has claimed it all. We cannot go our usual way, the trail is ankle deep in overflow. We go another way, and get our walk in this fresh morning, this quiet, after the hectic of Christmas Day. So little gets done today: except we go with our youngest to show her father her new apartment, and the move-in begins. And I let the after-Christmas clutter rest and enjoy itself in every room of the house.