#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

We love the things we love for what they are.

~ Robert Frost, from Hyla Brook

I chatter, chatter, as I flow

To join the brimming river,

For men may come and men may go,

But I go on for ever.

~ Alfred Lord Tennyson, The Brook

The brook is running back to the river. The wetlands are wet. Tentative edges of ice on the shallow water in the humps of grass. I was so happy to see this. And as I walked to the trestle bridge, across and under, while Charlie waited patiently above me, unwilling to travel over the rails, it started to rain, and I was happy for the rain, and turned back, so as not to keep poor Charlie waiting on my pictures any longer. It was a peaceful postlude to Wave’s noisy exit to school, after his egg. Where is the yolk he asked as he chewed the sandwich. It’s a scrambled one today. Most things this morning weren’t quite right. But by the brook and by the river I felt the flow of a cheerful morning, a holiday coming, and a homecoming, too. And Frank and I bickered a bit before he left, early. And that disagreement I let go and let it flow into the brook and the river. Transitions can be slightly or significantly jarring. This was a slight one. Fudgy at the door, eager to be fed, and it was a pleasure to give him his grain after his wild crowing in the early morning. He loves it here, by our front door. Wave fussed at the Fudgy droppings. Roosters are like that. I watered plants. I worked on the poem I shared in workshop last night. Sigh. I didn’t think I’d make many revisions, but this poem is finely tuned now. A finely tuned elegy. Frank and I had a quiet dinner by the fire, happy to be home, happy to be with each other.