#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
Charles River Morning
“’T is you that are the music, not your song.
The song is but a door which, opening wide,
Lets forth the pent-up melody inside,
Your spirit’s harmony, which clear and strong
Sing but of you. Throughout your whole life long
Your songs, your thoughts, your doings, each divide
This perfect beauty; waves within a tide, . . .”Excerpt from “Listening,” by Amy Lowell
Charlie and Suzi are nowhere to be found. It’s not that early. All habits are shifting. My husband is home, instead of at his morning AA meeting. Now he runs the meeting at 7 at night from his desktop. Seems my daughter has taken them into the city with her to pick up her plants. She arrives home with the dogs and we walk in the damp morning with both my daughters and both my dogs and we ramble along a long time, with so much to catch up on. They talk about their grandmother. Missing her. The gifts and challenges she brought into their lives. What their last encounter with her was like, how grateful they were for the last visits with her. There is skunk cabbage and their are clouds and by the time we return home, the sky is bright, clear. Where does another day go? A blur of activity, phone calls with friends, staying in touch. Listening. Being available. Also, there is laundry, more unpacking, but the house starts to feel as if it has order again. And then there are meals. Three meals a day, a full house, so many dishes! All pitching in. The weather cools at dinnertime when the sunshine leaves the yard, but we eat at the big table on the deck outdoors since this way my son and his friend can join us–they cannot come in the house, they must keep their distance. After dinner, the kids sit by the fire and heaters long after dark playing a game and laughing. We are lucky to have each other so near. Who knows how long this peace will last in this storm? I feel so much for the people I know who have deep and profound worries, anxieties, losses, pain. Here was today. I say thank you, so humbly. The moment I felt most alive was the moment I drove to wave, car to car, to a friend I could not hug. I am practicing the art of hugging with my ears, by listening to the songs of the spirits of all the humans near and far.
