#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

I make crepes for Wave at his request. He asks for Aunt Franci’s favorite, having learned that this is her favorite breakfast. He is very satisfied, and that makes me happy. Once again I feel more like walking. Actually, I don’t feel like walking or swimming. I feel blah from this weather or whatever and I have a cranky voice in my head. But I walk anyway, and on the way home I wade in my sneakers through the overflowing brook - and this is when for the first time this morning I find a picture that makes me smile. The little maple buds in a scrim on the brook’s surface with the tree’s branches. I just feel a squirt of happiness. But I also like the picture I took while standing from the trestle bridge over the Charles, the surface of water in stillness under a placid and colorless sky. Brush strokes. Breath. Stillness. Then I take a short swim after that, and head off to meet with my Ukrainian friends on Zoom for a chat and connection, which we do once per month. We do some drawing and it’s really lovely. I get my newsletter finished and sent out and then tea with a dear friend brightens the afternoon. The cranky voice is quiet tonight. I downloaded “My Struggle, Book I,” by Karl Ove Knausgaard last night to listen as I went off to sleep and the opening is so dark––smart and thoughtful and intriguing, yes, but very dark–– I turned it off and returned the book this morning. I’m sure it gets better. Maybe. But I’m not going to find out. I am thinking about reading “James,” the new book by Percival Everett. But I’m being fussy, quite fussy about my next choice. Waiting. Audible will not let me return another. Meanwhile, my hardcover second hand copy of a biography of the poet Louise Bogan arrived and I might start that instead.