#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Bird’s egg, blue, found in the garden

“Probably one of the most private things in the world is an egg before it is broken.”
― M.F.K. Fisher

After my long walk with my daughter, under the clouds, while I am about to water the flower gardens, I see a bright splotch of blue, whole, unscathed, unbroken, and unborn, an egg. Stolen from a nest? Dropped? Found. By me. Lonely egg. Nothing to be done. I water all the gardens because there is no rain. Hello Monday. On the walk, we took the way through the meadow, over the trestle bridge, The teens who have been, daily, gathering on the bridge in bathing suits to frolic over the river and jump, have left tons more trash, beach towels, cans and bottles and wrappers. Tomorrow I will bring a bag. How lovely to see the pink milkweed blooms, and the white and pink and yellow flowers on the lily pads in the wetlands.. Instant relaxation. Flower of peace. At home, I work on a poem from the letters. I’m a bit unsure about it. Tonight I take it to my workshop, and I get feedback that’s very beneficial. It’s not quite there. I will go back to work on it tomorrow. There is a skunk, Frank warns us all, living under the garden shed. Oh no. This is trouble. As I sit down to join my workshop on Zoom I hear my daughter yelling in the yard at Charlie––the wild tailed skunk, the strangest skunk I’ve ever seen with an extravagantly fluffed white tail is strolling through the meadow grass in early evening daylight, as happy as you please. Somehow, Charlie noses toward him, but wisely retreats and isn’t sprayed. The skunk waddles into the pines. This is not the end of the story.

Lily pad in the wetlands