#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

"Forsythia is pure joy. There is not an ounce, not a glimmer of sadness or even knowledge
in forsythia. Pure, undiluted, untouched joy."
- Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Frank lets the dogs out to bark before it’s light. Deer are grazing, of course, near the house. So, I wake earlier than planned, and that is fine. I have to finish my prep for Farm Pond Writers. But I walk first in the muddy woods; past the swamp with sunlit skunk cabbage. So few people are walking in the woods on these early days. Returning home to our yard, I’m pleased to see all of our forsythia in bloom. Years ago I transplanted a very large and overgrown plant and now there are cuttings from it in full bloom in the front and back yards in several places. I go inside and prep, and then we have our workshop; the writing is deep and self-disclosing and rich and well expressed. The rest of the day is filled with meetings and prep for upcoming events. In the late afternoon I spend time revising an erasure poem I wrote years ago, and my revisions continue into the evening. Done. Sent off. Tonight, there is no good news about Alexei Nevalni who continues to suffer in prison, but our government is speaking out. Putin won’t care. Nevalny, after Putin poisoned him, could have gone into hiding, stayed in exile to never return. Instead, he heads boldly back to Moscow and continues demonstrating. And is locked up. And Putin’s got another shot at killing him, this time, without having to resort to military grade poison.