#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Charlie wouldn’t cross the field and come on the walk. He sat on the deck and yipped and moaned. Very strange. I called and called. But the girls were inside watching a show; it was early, having their breakfast. He couldn’t seem to break away if we weren’t all going together. I kept going, hoping he’d just follow me, and then he didn’t. And I missed him. But the pinks bloomed today by the railroad tracks, just in the spot where they bloom every late May and June. And the meadow was fine. It was a day of wind. Wind blew through the house, it blew open memory and imagination, it flew the letters from my desk and pushed and pulled and banged the screen door and it whooshed across my bedroom and it riled up so much excitement. Not a cool wind, a just right wind, and in the yard, near the garden, I cleared brush in the wind while my daughter planted and hoed and Frank rototilled new rows, and Charlie dug in the dirt where nothing is planted yet. I spent the afternoon indoors at a poetry workshop on revision. Brought a new poem, I will call it a Florida poem, about the bird made of sticks I found on a morning walk, and I am happy to have written a poem about our Florida time, about the birds. I miss them. My poem was well received and I see what I’ll do with it. The temperature dropped suddenly in the afternoon and a chill came on and the wind stopped. Now all is calm and outdoors and indoors the house is dark, the sky black, the yard holding the garden and the peas just under the soil moistly alert. And the windows closed. I miss the wind.

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