#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Last year’s sumac in the meadow

Life is a form of poetry, and poetry is a form of discipline, namely, the focus and attention of one who wants to be raptured. The methodology is to see what lies before us with the lover's insatiable eyes, the gaze that can't touch or taste in moderation.

~ Alina Stefanescu, Excerpt from Forbidden

At one point this morning I looked up the lanes and down and realized I was the sole swimmer in the pool. Luxurious calm and peace. Suzi and Charlie were waiting in the car for me to do my laps. I took them on a walk on a Charles Link Trail that runs outside the fitness center in Medfield. Suzi was spry and happy, although it costs her, it does. We went through meadow, lingered in the marsh. Unleashed the two of them loved our adventure. I kept looking for signs of spring, but it has not yet really sprung. Last year’s sumac under a blue-gray sky. It was chilly, not freezing. I found a little purple spreading ground cover in bloom; I don’t know its name. Once home, I went on a Zoom with my friend who moved to California and another dear friend because we miss each other, and this was a brilliant way to connect deeply, as it turns out. To catch each other up. Then, out with Frank. Unplanned, we stopped and picked out a new dining room table for when the construction is done. We completely agreed on the one he had his eye on. He has a great vision for the rooms to come into being. Even running errands, we were happy to have this time together, catching up, and having those conversations we only have when riding around in a car. Tonight, both daughters here and daughter’s boyfriend and we set up folding tables in the deconstructed dining room to have our meal together. We tell them about the table of our dreams that we will sit at some day soon.

Spring in the meadow