. . . labor day of strained

and broken rituals, river

isn’t done dimming light, cleaning up.

It grows so dark with weeds
pull every bit of summer. . .

~ Excerpt from “scattering,” by Kelly DuMar

Out early, sunshine at the river, soaking grass, soaking feet, not a pair of dry sneakers from this week. Oh, well. I run in wet sneakers, a half hour, enough. I am hosting the Charles River Writers today. Frank is sweet. Runs to the store for baked goods for me. I am pleased with the writing prompt I facilitate. Afternoon, catch up on work with the Monologue Play Lab participants. Receive news, happily, from an online journal, “The Dodge,” editors. They have nominated my poem, “scattering,” for a Best of the Net award. It’s one of my poems from life here on this river. I am concerned for friends and loved ones in Florida on the Gulf Coast. I get to have a long catch-up with my dear friend who moved away. Heart filled. Play Lab tonight. The plays growing so well in this powerful group of women’s voices. Oh! The eggs. They have been raided. The three snake eggs by the river. One missing. One shell left from the one who hatched. The third one broken. I can see the black skin of the snake that might have been through the breakage. In the late afternoon, we’re in the yard: my husband, my son, my daughter, the Special One. A garter snake, unrelated to the three eggs, cross the grass at our feet.