#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Morning Brook

The support group for the leaders of the Ukrainian support groups meets at 8:00 a.m. and I have no time for a walk with Charleston. But the group is powerful and I am glad not to have missed it; we gather from many time zones. All volunteers asking the same questions: how to help; not just that, but if we can be of help at all. What is helpful in a time of collective trauma that is ongoing? One offers, “The group is medicine.” It is, I believe. Spiritual medicine. It was a busy day, catching up, a Monday. I stay at my desk until late afternoon, and Charlie is patient. After I accomplish a few things I have to find a poem for tonight to revise or start new. I don’t know, for awhile, how to do either. So little writing focus lately. I feel cold. But I know I have to simply begin. I think I’ll revise one poem, but, as often happens, another poem says, pick me. And, so I do. And I find a way to revise this poem that’s frustrating me. Then, outdoors, for my walk with Charlie. There is the most pleasant wind blowing the thick leaves of the trees on the canopied trail. July, heat and relief. No swim for me today; just need a break. Make dinner, homemade pizza. In our household, this week, there is an outcome we’re awaiting. Uncertainty. Tonight, in the kitchen, all of us happening to meet, spontaneously. I said aloud, something like a prayer, more like an intention. The group is the medicine.