#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
Morning Birds
. . . Here I stay, I, I lay me down
In a house by the Hill
I'm dug from the rubble, and cut from the kill
I'm dug from the rubble, and cut from the kill
I'm dug from the rubble, and cut from the kill~ Excerpt from lyrics for, “Little Bird,” Lisa Hannigin
Wake tired from an interrupted night sleep and I don’t really want to get up but Frank and I have made an appointment to look at a summer property in Rhode Island very early. I set the alarm for a swim first, but slept through that. We were woken at 1:30 by the house alarm again. Not fire this time, but flood. A pipe has burst in the master bedroom where the heat was turned off. There’s more inconvenience. Not a disaster. Frank gets the water to the pipe turned off and the alarm turned off and we are able to go back to sleep. Restless, for me. However, Frank cheers me out of bed and we enjoy the ride and the chance to talk. I listen mostly. We both feel much better in the daylight. I have a busy day ahead; I need a poem for tonight and I have a client and I have prep for two groups and I want a swim and a walk, and and and. . .all will get done, it always does. We quickly see the inside of this place and drive back home without a chance to talk; Frank has a zoom call all the way home. I get to my desk, to a poem. I think I will start new, but find a revision of last week’s poem and try out a new ending. Frank visits my office. We agree. This isn’t the property for us. I manage to do many essentials and also, the swim, 3/4 mile, and it feels terrific. I have been finding such wonderful rhythm, breath, stroke. And, in the late afternoon, the Special One on my back in the pack we go out in the wet and the melt from the warmth of this sudden drastic weather shift. River layers in white and black, silver and shimmer. This song, Little Bird, by Lisa Hannigan is a favorite: dug from the rubble, cut from the kill. Tonight, in poetry workshop, I find, my new poem ending works.
Ghostly trees in the afternoon brook