#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

. . . where look!

I see my mother

and father bearing a cake,

waiting for me

at the starting line.

~ Linda Pastan, excerpt from “Counting Backwards”

The grogginess of a house oversleeping on a dark, storm-bound morning that happens to be the day I was born. I offer to drive the special one to day care. Because there is no way this morning that I will miss my swim in the pond. Charlie is peeved as I head out the door, wondering about his time with me. I will not be deterred. It’s cold, 56 degrees, no terrible. Not raining. Not windy yet. Quite dim and cloud covered. I get to the pond, not a soul around, I know I’m going in. I text my brother who has already wished me a happy birthday to tell him where I am. I run up the steps, down the other side, I don’t slip on the slick yellow and red leaves, and I’m diving in to the chop, a few strokes, and it’s damn cold, but I’m determined. I stay the course. There is no give, it’s all brown below and gray above. I’m alive and happily chilled, swimming through icy jello, happy, happy happy to be here on my birthday. And, then I am running up the steps after my swim, home to Charlie for a run. The rain and wind still holding off, we go out in the woods and do our three miles, then home to dry off. All my birthday wishes from far and near coming in texts and calls and e-mails and Facebook, quite lovely. I get very little, just enough, time at my desk, and a special lunch with my dear friend, our twice annual ritual, her birthday and mine. It has been raining now, this evening, heavily, and the wind blowing up. The storm ahead. I am exactly the age I want to be tonight.