#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
Icy Morning Brook
Here in the time of winter morn––a turning back. My skis on, Charlie and Suzi with me. Here in the time of winter morn, Love, it’s no longer snow, it’s grass and ice. The trail a melt of all the feet on snow and skiing is ruined for this snowfall. Here in the time of winter morn, we backtrack. I leave Charlie and drive to the track where he can’t go. The track, I hope, is clear of snow. Here in the time of winter morn the track is mostly a thin crusted snow and random pockets of clear track and I run as best I can over that. Decide: it’s an imperfect morning for being outdoors. Now the cold and colder day comes. I get to work. Catch up on e-mails and the plants I’ll water later. Last time at my desk, besides Saturday’s events, last Wednesday. My youngest comes to work on clean-up from the fire and tackles the job cheerfully with energy this winter morn. I could be helping her but I am looking for a poem. Will one come? It has been three weeks since we’ve met in Monday workshop. I haven’t written one since then. Not sure where to begin. That’s a good amount of time: wondering. Clock ticking. Check on my daughter who is hard at work and making progress. Back at desk, must take a phone call from a dear friend––no regrets. Then, somehow, find a way in to something that somehow might have a shape. Agh. So rough. Interruption from my daughter who is here to help me edit the poetry program from Saturday that was zoom-bombed so I can post it. Clock ticks and it’s 2:59, I hit send to make the deadline. Tonight I received Vanessa’s notes on my poems. Very helpful. She sees what I’m doing better than I do. Which is a good sign, and helps me feel okay about the rough piece I just generated. Tomorrow is my younger brother’s birthday. My mother brought two babies home on two different January morns. I remember her rocking him that first night, taking my place on her lap.