#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

River Wave

“I hear stories. It could be myself telling them to myself or it could be these murmurs that come out of the earth. The earth so old and haunted, so hungry and replete. It talks. Things past and things yet to be.”
― Edna O'Brien

A night of wonderful long sleep, but still awake early. Cool as fall out there. Doors open. Wave home, a lovely feeling. I go out with Charlie for a walk. I am doubtful about the poem I sent for workshop. I weed a bit. I swim. In workshop, my poem is very successful. Surprise! Frank and I have lunch, here at home. There is weeding I want to accomplish before going away, and I get a good amount of it done, late afternoon, just before a wonderful, surprising, heavy downpour. I don’t have to water after all! I have finished the memoir of the recently departed novelist Edna O’Brien––excellent. Right up until the last chapter, last paragraph, last sentence. I’m happily in a period of having an unlimited number of books I want to read. I am in the midst of a busy work week of facilitating groups and my play lab. All stimulating. Getting my monologue play lab and showcases together. Coordinating with playwrights and actors. Poetry workshop with my peers tonight and again a great reception for my poem. The ground is sooooo wet. A big soaking. I made pizzas and my bones are tired and happy.

Butterfly Weed