#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Birch bark stitches

. . . Huddled there,

rubbing together

white sticks of

your own ribs,

praying for sparks

in that dark

where tinder is heart,

where tender is not.

~ Excerpt from “Trauma (Storm)” by Gregory Orr

A long ramble in woods, no rush. We go to the trail through the shay wetlands where there’s marsh and a hidden brook and planks over mud where Charlie’s paws leave their mark. What’s spring new, and visible, is some skunk cabbage and little else: some tree buds sprouting on branches. I finish listening to Adam Bede; ends with satisfying love after tragedy. Such darkness endured and overcome. No surprise this classic novel, published in 1859 by George Eliot is still in print and widely read. I downloaded to Audible and started listening to her Middlemarch, which I’ve read at least twice. But listening to a well produced reading is such a wonderful way to experience the novel. And I have so much raking to do in the next couple of weeks, and this will keep me entertained. I have a whole writing day. I go into my office, shut the door. I revise the third cutting poem. It’s okay. I dig into a first revision of another daughter in the garden poem I’ve workshopped once; I really like this poem. I get through a revision to a new draft ready for workshop tomorrow. Tonight, I finish a new poem from the letters. A productive day. The news is a horrible experience when turned on to the George Floyd murder trial. Feel intense compassion for the courageous, traumatized witnesses of all ages.

Charlie’s prints