#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

My friend’s view of Farm Pond, Morning Swim

“The Fourth of July is home. I've traveled the world over, and I always wanted to come back home. And so this is where we have to work to improve the situation to be a part of this social movement, a part of Black Lives Matter, a part of striving for racial unity.”

~ Angelita Reyes, NPR, Black Americans On Celebrating July 4th Amid National Unrest Over Racial Injustice, July 4, 20207:58 AM ET

Charlie doesn’t know what day it is, the fireworks day, so he is happy. He lives in the moment, from smell to smell in the grass and the rook, and fishing in Farm Pond. We walk there early for our swim. I meet my friend in the brilliant blue. July Jully July. My daughter meets me at the Pond, gets dropped off, and we walk the dogs home together through the leafy woods, talking over our special evening last night, talking over this baby coming, coming into the strange world of the pandemic, into all the unknowns of a birth process in October, and all the necessities of care and concern to not be exposed. How this pandemic is reshaping the birth experience for mothers and fathers. Tonight, on the way home from our friend’s back yard, I saw the moon blasted almost whole and bright over this day. And the fireworks starting to sound their alarms, poor Charlie, on high alert, under the noises rumbling from far and wide. I worked on the poems from letters a little, but also made quesadillas for dinner and with our friends, safely socially distanced, we kayaked and paddled on the leafy Charles in the late afternoon. While I worked on the poems from letters, down the hall, my husband continued his mission to help my daughter nest in the rooms nearby, moving massive bookshelves and boxes. I know she appreciates his time and attention and energy and care so much. Charlie, the 4th of July comes only once a year.