#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

I heard whispering. A young voice, a mother’s voice. I came slowly out of a deep sleep. Wave and his mother wondering if I was awake. It was early, and I am usually the one to wake them up! Nightmares had woken them much much earlier and they could wait no longer for egg sandwiches. Requested by both! Frank grabbed his suitcase, showered and left without me stirring. I happily, if groggily, got up to make the breakfast request. Which was much appreciated. Another easy day getting Wave out the door. I had to take my car for service, and walked home the 45 minutes from town via the railroad tracks to the path through the woods. It was cold, and the light was very low, and there was ice, but somehow the day inspired no particular magic. And I was walking fast to get home in time for my poetry workshop. I was eager to see how my poem revision worked. And pleased to find it very well received. My Mondays are bookended by poetry workshops, and tonight, my peers also appreciated it. The beginning. Of preparing. For Christmas. The wreath. When will I go to the woods for my greens and my berries. Where’s Franci?