#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

. . . It's a single
vowel in this metallic
silence, a mouth that says
O again and again in wonder
and pain, a breath, a finger
grip on a cliffside. You can
hold on or let go.

Excerpt from “Variations on the Word Love,” Margaret Atwood

Blissful, the ten hours. Yes ten. Hours of sleep. Unbroken. Whole and purely restful. A February night. Waking to winter. Sun and freeze. River of glass and shard. Skis in a glide push glide. Powder skim. Brook, part frozen, part swish, bubble and swell. Plenty. Of time and a free mind. Dog walkers on trails and Charlie is extroverted and frisky with affection. One glove on, one glove off. No undue chill. Nobody, nothing in my way. Taking my time. As far as I want. Home for Saturday, a loose and cheery one. Yesterday’s dishes. Done. A webinar I run: my monologues course. My daughter comes, at the last minute, at my request, on Zoom. My actor. It goes well; women learning to write monologues for the stage. We run over, into two hours. We get so much done. Powerful stories told. I make pizza for dinner. It’s such a relaxing day and evening. We watch a movie, very disturbing: A Promising Woman. Yikes. I must find a way to cheer myself to sleep! I will think about the morning brook, the powdery ski. I will think about the snow that wants to fall tomorrow: what conditions will it bring?