#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

. . . In-between the sun and moon,
I sit and watch
and make some room
for letting light and twilight mingle,
shaping hope
and making single glances last eternity. . .

~ Excerpt from “In-between the sun and moon,” Pádraig Ó Tuama

Well, I wear a vest and no coat, no mittens, no boots and my feet only get a little wet from the mushy grass. There are clouds and I don’t mind. I woke with the window open to the birds. Spring lifts mood. All the ice on the brook is gone. Charlie drinks without having to break ice with his thirsty paws. His tongue sets the rippling going. I am very pleased with what I’ve planned for the Farm Pond Writers, and I leave room, too, for spontaneity, and follow my instincts, leading to reverie. The writing and discussion is heartful and spirited and deep. I am renewed and in the afternoon have a lovely short meeting with Frannie Lindsay who will be the IWWG open mic featured poet on Sunday. She looks so pretty in her yellow nook, on her needlepoint upholstered chair. Then I have another wonderfully rich meeting with Jen Minotti, the editor of the Journal of Expressive Writing about a potential collaboration, and THEN, I must work on a poem for tomorrow. I know which one. Still, there is always that slight trepidation. Open the poem; can anything good be done? I have been working on it. Will it go where I want it to go? I am surprised that it seems to. I change the point of view, for the third time since I began it. This feels right. I get it sent off. I walk after dinner into twilight around the property. It’s warm and springish and I don’t want to go in. The three-quarter moon rises above the pines in the purplish sky on a day well lived. And there’s more. How, in my bed, my daughter finds me to talk and we are side by side having a very good conversation. And some laughter. Gorgeous moment, to be close like this.