#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Short spined sea urchin, Longboat Pass Bridge, Gulf of Mexico

“. . . Daily, before the night could fray into dawn, she dived half a mile from shore, inhaling three minutes of air at a time. All morning she pried abalone and sea urchins from slick rock. Once, when she returned, I counted the stiff lines around her mouth, which never seemed to open but held back entire tides. On my birthday, she brought me a ball of spines in a bucket, lifted its bit of ocean into my cupped hands. . .”

~Excerpt from “The Sea Urchin,” by Marcia Calabretta Cancio-Bello, published in “Paper Darts”

Up later than usual; awake in the middle of the night. It has grown very warm and sunny; the wind has passed and my morning walk is soothing in the sunshine. Frank calls from the road; he has left for a meeting in Miami, early, and two hours in learns the meeting is canceled. He is coming home, and I’m glad. I feel a low grade sadness, and try harder to focus on the beauty of nature around me. There is a bright pink leaf on the green surface reminding me of gentleness. At Longboat Pass Bridge I see an unbroken, fresh washed up sea urchin with its beaded test. This is a simple, glorious treasure. I appreciate, in my picture, how pretty it is, delicate as a pin cushion. The snowy egret seems to say, enjoy the froth. Someone has left a lean to on Beer Can Island.

Indoors, I am busy, happily so. I spend time getting six to eight poems set for submission and I send batches and batches of good poems out the door. Tonight, I am so excited to host and moderate the online All Voices Open Mic for IWWG. Dear Myra Shapiro and Cynthia Manick feature, and then 20 writers from around the country, including a woman from the Caribbean, from the island of Dominique, read poetry and prose in their 3-minute slot. What a gorgeous and interesting, hopeful and encouraging mesh of voices and deep listeners. When Myra read my eyes welled; I felt so emotional, so grateful for her presence from NYC, for her longevity and authority of her voice. Seeing and hearing Myra fed me in a way I needed to be fed tonight, and she had the good idea to read poems on the theme of food. She made a meal of nourishing poetry for us all. And Cynthia, bold and beautiful and artful and riveting in her delivery. Sigh. I know tonight made a difference for all of us. How grateful I am, and how hopeful. Frank sleeps beside me tonight. And the window’s open to the heat of the night and the swish of the Gulf tide.