#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

. . . Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer
utters itself. So, a woman will lift
her head from the sieve of her hands and stare
at the minims sung by a tree, a sudden gift. . .

~ Excerpt from “Prayer,” by Carol Ann Duffy

A day, a walk. A day when a walk is prayer. Prayer as listening, and letting in the sounds in the absence of talk or human noise. Nature only. Wind through trees and aspen leaves. Meadow grass soaked, and my feet sloshing. Blackbird after blackbird shooting across the river, in and out of landings on branches. Letting myself listen, too, to the prayer of my body, saying what it wants. To feel what I feel and move my feet and eyes. Let there be tiredness. And also gratitude. Let the gratitude come. Then, home. At my desk, writing and sending my newsletter out. Gratitude to have that done. House quiet today. In the late afternoon a visit from my friend who has been away, is back home, and the sweet chance to hear about her journey. Dinner with both daughters around the table, the doors open. A late rainstorm, a rainbow. Playful fun and laughter. Frank and I walk, nearing dark, across to the river and back. Lights on, home across the meadow in summery weather.