#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

. . . And if we could hold in some magic way
To your trailing robes for a single day,
Dear month of June, we would bid you stay.

~ From June, by Lottie Brown Allen

Last day of June. Bright sun and warmth. A morning walk with Charlie past the garden where the lilies have opened, and past the brook where the blue sky penetrates the surface. The atmosphere feels like the holiday weekend already. Not much of a work day; more an errand day. And I had a lovely, long swim in the bright sunshine. I swam across the pond from the boat dock around the island to my friend’s house that is no more. I opened my eyes, circling the island, and couldn’t find it! What? How could this be? How could a whole house, one of the very few on the pond, just disappear? And slowly, I realized, the new owner has painted the house white. White, white, white. The natural, organic, artistic, gorgeous home my friend built is lodged in my memory where it shall always live. And all the swims we took in this pond live in me too. And the swim I took today in the sunny, choppy water was exquisite, and I was grateful. Later, I came back to the beach with the special one and we happily played with pails and trucks and rocks in the sand while the swim team practiced on the docks, reminding me of my children’s youth and all my summers of watching them practice for swim team on sunny June and July evenings.

Morning Brook Abstract