#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Blood-Leaf

. . . I’m gonna keep singing this emptiness into the growth. I know it means something. I’ll whisper the invert into the dirt. A name that won’t be said out loud. It is floral, and has its own kind of sadness. As much as I wish for a new life, I cherish decay. The bare world, raw and bleeding. My throat opens like a tulip.

~ Excerpt from Leila Quinn Ortiz, “There are Flowers”

This is the picture I found on the trail of a long, long walk this morning. I call it Blood Leaf. I thought about the leaves a lot, this morning, as I often do, these December days. This is what the woods have in abundance, in over-abundance. Leaves are the mighty presence, grounded, losing color, texture, matter. They are, this morning, all wet and slathered and layered on each other. They are decaying. There are no flowers. Leaves are my winter flowers. I find tremendous beauty and peace and interest and inspiration in them. Later, I downloaded the just published issue of deLuge literary journal, Issue 7.1, and found Leila Quinn Ortiz’s poem, excerpted above, that surprised and delighted me, as it seemed to go exactly with the picture of my “Blood Leaf.” Little wonderful synchronicity this New Year’s Even morning. In the sogginess under silver sky. Ice-less brook. A long ramble. In the middle of the day, after Frank won his tennis match — yay! a tough opponent! –– we made a car date into the North End. Parked and walked across the Rose Kennedy Greenway, and walked to Bova’s Bakery (my favorite) and the sub shop next to it (his favorite) and we got our treats and walked to our favorite coffee shop, The Thinking Cup, and walked with our special hazelnut lattes through the crowded, rain-moist streets, and we talked a lot about what we’ve been through and what we’re excited about in this new year to come. At midnight, the threshold of the old and new, we will likely be fast asleep tonight in our broken house that shelters us still and shelters us well. The river is dark, under no moon, but it’s a constant stream of refreshment. For Christmas, I had a custom wood sign made for our home. It has a river and trees and our street address, and the name we’ve given the property. It’s a gift to Frank. Ordered, and it hasn’t arrived. I showed him the picture, and he loved it. I’ve been meaning to get him this gift for a long time, to have it made. Soon, it will arrive and it will be hung at the end of the driveway: Riverwoods.