#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Bee Balm and Black Eyed Susan

Hazy sky, a shielded sun. I read in the Boston Globe that the fires from out West are causing this––here! How the smoke travels! I go out for my walk, eager for absence of rain. Except the mosquitoes are ubiquitous and fierce and ravaging. After bug spray. After stems of rosemary from the garden tucked behind my ears and in my hatband. There isn’t anything particularly fresh or vital or captivating to photograph in the woods. Later, mid-afternoon, I get my spectacle. The bee balm is in bright bloom in all of my gardens. I stand still near some and wonder. . . and wait. Yes, she comes! The little hummingbird comes to the bee balm. I can’t get her picture, but I appreciate her. She is not the ruby throated one; I have not seen her likes before. It’s a sweet visitation. I have worked, earlier, on a new poem from some notes taken a few weeks ago from one of my own prompts. I don’t remember the prompt; just found the notes. Not sure where it’s going, but I’m willing to see what it might become. Or fail to become anything. I woke pleased to remember my poem got great reception last night. But, troubled by the last line; I asked a poet friend who is an editor to weigh in on my question, and, delightfully, she gave me a wonderful suggestion that felt like it solved my question, just right. Gratitude. And an afternoon swim at my friends dock, where I saw friends and had an energetic, happy swim. Tonight, my poetry pals. I thought I wouldn’t share a poem. There poems were excellent. We had a great talk; I shared a problematic one, and they were helpful and supportive. Such warmth and friendship over poems across distance.