#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
Dear friend, you were right: the smell of fish and foam and algae makes one green smell together. It clears my head. It empties me enough to fit down in my own skin for a while, singleminded as a surfer. . .
~ Excerpt from Fleda Brown, "A Few Lines from Rehoboth Beach”
The ibis is gorgeous in orange beak and legs and feet at the dark blue water of morning where I watch it feed. It’s light so much later, after this time change. I wake early, despite my late night, from a dream of horseback riding through the woods of home–freedom and confidence and delight. I walk out to the worm moon beaming down from the sky on my own two feet and feel the presence and power of the disc over me and over the sand-grassy dune. I have a shorter walk today, but I see what I need to see: the snowy egret perched, the big old ancient conch with the hermit crab buried in the belly. I am whole and relaxed and filling with the presence of this flight-filled habitat. It’s not a peaceful world beyond this beach, the worries and tragedies mount. Concern rising in the meetings I have in the day online; board meetings and a committee meeting, and on the news; I pay attention to news of two places, here, in my home away from home, and there, in my home that is home where my loved ones are. I realize tomorrow is Wednesday, and we have not met in weeks, the Farm Pond Writers and me to write. I spill off an e-mail invitation: I will make an hour tomorrow for us to meet on Zoom and write and check in and check up. I don’t know who is available, but I am. And I want to share the writing prompt I sent Monday to my Aim for Astonishing weekly e-mail on writing from personal photos that embody certainty. (If you would like me to e-mail you this prompt, let me know at kellydumar@gmail.com and I’ll send it to you.) Today I had no time to work on my poems, but tomorrow I will and I must send those that are ready out. Tonight, just me and Frank in a quiet house and the swish of the waves.