#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Still is the bustle in the brook,
Sealed are the spicy valves;
Mesmeric fingers softly touch
The eyes of many elves.

Excerpt from “Nature, Poem 49: November, Emily Dickinson

It was a slow, happy awakening. Visitors in my room. My own coffee brewed in my own new pot. Cheerful reunion, sharing of news. The relaxing feeling, all day, of the holiday here. Charlie quite happy to have me for his walk, and we saw a lot of ice, and I wasn’t too cold, it was fresh and windy and starting a freeze on the water. Ducks on the river swimming in formation. The sense that I had no rush. could take my time. Even the food shopping didn’t feel like a burden, but felt fun, preparing for the holiday, getting the fresh turkey, thinking through the favorites and treats for the days ahead. Many bags. I even unloaded in good cheer. The kitchen is coming back together. Not so chaotic. Beginning to have some order. Everyone home all day; a lovely home-cooked in our new pots meal, eating together. Early dark, warmth indoors. Anticipation. The youngest survey’s everyone on their favorite type of Thanksgiving stuffing. It’s strange to feel how tired, irritable and tense Frank and I were before leaving. And I’m so thankful for the trip, a helpful break. Both of returning with a positive perspective. I ordered the Thanksgiving pies; not going to do everything this week. i round up the holiday picture books and begin the seasonal readings with the special one. Feeling the tiredness of a day well spent. Sent my revised poem for tomorrow night off well before deadline.