#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
“Never wade through the pretty ripples
of perpetually flowing
rivers, until you have looked at their lovely waters,
and prayed to them,
and washed your hands in the pale enchanting water.”
― Hesiod
I am a little fracked up by having read some e-mails before my walk, and there’s jumble in my head, but I look at the river, slim, frosted, ribbony, pure and cold and fresh and simple under a snow cloud sky, and I immediately feel: how important is it? Be here now. I walk slowly and immediately engage with the time I have made in this morning for a wander in the wetlands. I have time to look at all the little remnants of trees, bark bites fallen from up high onto the snow. I become quite engaged with the river’s edge, ice pictures, and I call Suzi back from wandering out onto thin ice. And then, in the wetlands where the little brook runs, I can walk over all the places to where the brook meets the Charles, because it’s solid frozen snow under my feet. The brook is winding through, frozen here, and rippling free there, and I go out to the river and hear voices from out on the trestle bridge, some hikers, talking loudly. I go back toward where the brook winds through the brush, and I’m between a snowy sky and the snowy earth, moving gently and happily. Here is the little waterfall that I can never reach until a.day like this when I have a snow surface. I listen to the tumble of fresh water up through ice, over the rocks, on its happy way to meet the Charles. There will be snow today; all will be different tomorrow. The snow has not started. I am so happy. This is sacred time and space, this new day. My boots fall through a little shallow part of the brook, I pull them out, they will dry. I have washed my feet, rather than my hands, in the pale enchanting water. A wonderful start to a busy Sunday; I go to a monologue event happening in Scotland to support someone; and then I hold the IWWG open mic, a wonderful feature, E. Dolores Johnson featuring with her compelling memoir, “Say I’m Dead,” and a full house of listeners and readers. I send out my weekly Aim for Astonishing prompt. I look forward to a ski in the inches and inches of fresh powder that fell from the sky over this river and wetlands all day, when I wake tomorrow.
