#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Charles River Ice

. . . Sometimes the hidden home of what’s missing

is hardly hidden after all

is really right in front of you

is somewhere that makes you say

“Oh!

Of course.

Why didn’t I think of that before?” . . .

~ Excerpt from “Lost Things,” by Lina Patel, (12 years old, Rattle Young Poets Anthology)

Up earlier than my body wanted, but glad to be outdoors. With last night’s ice and the river and brook. No luck with the boot. I’m obsessing. Don’t like to lose things. One boot is impossible waste. Of course, to find the boot, I will first need to replace the pair. The river had some open wounds of ice from the trestle bridge. Charlie was happy. Then I went for a swim. A short one. Did not overdue, did not stretch myself. Easy does it, my mantra today. Then, to my office, closed door. Will a poem come? I fussed around a bit. Then opened yesterday’s notes for a draft. This was the right impulse to follow. I was pleased with the draft. Yet, there is something as yet unspoken that has not surfaced. Still, in workshop tonight it’s well received. A friend came in the afternoon for tea and we sat in my office to have quiet from the workmen, the disarray. I bought gingerbread mix for cookies, for gingerbread men and women for the special one because it’s one of our favorite bedtime books to read together and I love it when I read run run run as fast as you can while he breathlessly pants. We will roll out the dough, cut out our women and men, put them in the oven and see what happens.