#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Wetlands in Rain

“Song falls silent, music is dumb,
But the air burns with their fragrance,
And white winter, on its knees,
Observes everything with reverent attention.”
― Anna Akhmatova, The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova

Overheated in the quietest hours, I opened a window beside my bed and let the fresh air in and when I woke it was raining and drenching and melting the wetlands ice, and a wind was blowing the branches. I shut the window, no rain inside. I went outside when the wind died down and watched the rain pelt the unfrozen river. It was not terribly cold. Charlie missed the walk, he was in my daughter’s room and I didn’t want to wake her; but Suzi, I got alone time with Suzi who dipped her whole self into the cold river refreshment and didn’t mind the rain, didn’t complain of the cold while she shivered a bit, because I was sploshing into the wetlands looking around for ice pictures, taking my time. There wasn’t much exciting to see, and my camera couldn’t stay dry. But i was glad to have a few moments at the brook watching the surface riled with raindrops. i chilled, and we went indoors, dried Suzi off. I finished a new revision of the garden poem I started two weeks ago, and I felt encouraged by it. In the afternoon, I made a fire and dimmed the lights, set up the massage table, lit the candles, heated the stones and invited my daughter, the new mother, for a much needed, much appreciated massage. Best antidote to winter blues. This massaging relaxed me too. Antidote to troubling national news.