#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
Feather on the Floor
"A full moon hangs high in the chilly sky,
All say it's the same everywhere, round and bright.
But how can one be sure thousands of li away
Wind and perhaps rain may not be marring the night?"
- Li Qiao, The Mid-Autumn Moon
Oh, it is a night of broken sleep and an early rising. Middle of night walk with a restless one under the Milky Way, the stroller, a blanket, the night sky blinking and watching us. Then, in the morning light, a walk in woods after my absence, to the river, a bit of ice, a polka dotted feather and more warmth than cold, un-mittened. A swim. Then, to my desk and catching up with e-mails and then to a poem for tonight: revision. Can I do it? I break open the file and begin. Get it off in time. Does it work? Settling back in. Dishes done. I take all the still fresh and un-consumed variety of vegetables in the fridge and roast them deliciously. Make a pot of sticky rice. I please the eaters of this house; and instead of rice I make mine into a roasted vegetable quesadilla and Frank eats that too before tennis. He is excited to travel tomorrow for his father’s 80th birthday to Florida. We are passing each other, it seems. CNN tells of the horrible unimaginable destruction of Kentucky and I try and take it in. I light my candle after dinner and have my sit. Then workshop, and it seems, my revision is working. This has been a very full day, first day home.
