. . . No voice calls me to order

as I enter a dream of meadow, kneel

to earth and, moving east to west, second

the motion only of the sun. I plant

frail seedlings in the unplowed field, trusting

the wildness hidden in their hearts. Spring light

sprawls across false indigo and hyssop,

daisies, flax. Clouds form, dissolve, withhold

or promise rain. In time, outside of time,

the unkempt afternoons fill up with flowers.

~ Excerpt from “Planting the Meadow,” Mary Makofske

Sweet night’s sleep, waking rested into a sunny summer Sunday. Frank is on a Zoom call at his AA Step Meeting. I go outside to the porch with Charlie so that I can hear the birds sing while I write my weekly Aim for Astonishing Writing prompt e-mail. [Want to read it? You can find How to Grow Writing From Your Raw Material here.] Finally, Charlie is ready. We will walk: I will take the day off from my bike ride or running. And we get lucky–Suzi joins us! Every walk we get with Suzi is an extra treat. And she is up for it. She bathes in the brook, of course. It’s Sunday. I always use the hashtag on my Instagram posts on Sundays, #Sundaysanctuary, because I am aware that these woods under the tree canopy feel like a sanctuary, where a higher power feels present and all encompassing. Then, I go to the garden, all the flowers and shrubs in need. It will be a blistering day. I especially want to water my freshest plantings. The gargantual bees buzz the bee balm while I water. The baby bunny who lives in the garden scurries away from an accidental drenching. In the afternoon we take a swim in the pond, the water is so warm and there is a hot breeze. I swim in the chop around the island. It is a sweet afternoon for reading in the shade of the deck and falling asleep. I am reading the National Book Award winning memoir by Sarah Broom: The Yellow House. But I am also listening to a book right now too: Trevor Noah’s Born A Crime. Summer is for reading and the stack of books beside my bed will thin a bit, and grow a bit, and probably the books will change but not the numbers of them waiting for my attention.