#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

My morning swim

The water doesn't know how old you are.
― Dara Torres

Quiet house. Easy rising. Later. Surprise: my daughter comes in, I’m still in bed. “Can I bring you a coffee?” Well, an unexpected treat. What goes around comes around. I have an energetic, a very satisfying long swim. In the pool, mostly alone. Then a walk for Charlie in the sunshine. Trees pretty. Gold and red. My feet soaking wet. A chill. Return home. I have the day to work on my manuscript. No procrastination. A few poems revised. One, in particular, I feel quite good about. Progress, I think. Frank still away. No group to run tonight. More revision. Of course, the news. More and more details of terrible distress. And helplessness. When Wave is away, as he is, yesterday and today, the house is quiet in a way none of us can get used to. We need his point of view. His sense of what truly matters––his upsets and clearings and healings.