#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Snow’s coming down at last, a semblance of former winters, the yearly erasure of boundaries I look forward to, while dreading actual incursions into the cold. I am sitting by the gas fireplace. It’s very quiet in here, and snow makes it seem more so. Molly is lying on her back in front of the fire, her body spread-eagled, white underbelly and paws balanced in the air. How can she do that—sprawl as if there’s nothing in the world to get worked up over?

~ Fleda Brown, Excerpt from her blog, “My Wobbly Bicycle” #234

Waking into days so different in this household from last week. Feeling well. The whole house feeling well. Routines normalized in wqys that bring relief from worry and distraction. I smile as I go to my outdoor closet: the storage unit where my clothes hang in the fierce chill, clean, fresh, in plastic, good as new. Charlie and Suzi and I go out and it’s 10 degrees warmer than yesterday and feels terrific. That’s a good thing about walking in a frigid wind chill––it can only get warmer! The ice is fabulous. River mostly frozen. I don’t go out on it, of course, but the wetlands are solid and safe and I can scoot around in my boots to look for pictures and the dogs like to do this too. I enjoy an unpressured wander. My Wed. poetry group after that––haven’t been there since November, and it’s good to be back with this group. I bring my Monday new poem with a few minor changes and it’s well received. In the afternoon, a long swim at the pool up the street––blissfully do laps for 3/4 of a mile and feel, yes, this Covid is behind me. Frank surprises me tonight with summer travel plans to favorite places––a rescheduling of a trip we canceled after the fire for the week after Christmas where we all came down with Covid anyway. Can these dreamy wonderful plans come true? Tonight I will sleep, trusting it will be so.