I have an evening habit of going outdoors
to give the dogs their moment, of course,
but that’s not the whole of the thing.
I have an evening habit of going outdoors
and I look at the sky –
Clouds or moon or Hunter
Last night it was the Mama Bear
and the just-more-than-First-Quarter moon
and Jupiter
and Saturn
and Arcturus
And I realized.
I go out to check on my friends.
Early to bed,
Early to rise,
Quiet drive through empty streets at sunrise,
Find my way,
Carry my craft,
New water!
Oooh! more of a current than expected,
that was an adventure!
So, turn up this way where it’s wider, slower,
Softer.
And drift back.
Home in time for coffee.
I hear you, friend.
Send that letter.
If you don’t believe in yourself today, I’m your Great Aunt and *I’ll* believe in you for you.
It’s not cold, but it’s damp and cool enough for a shawl,
a multi-colored shawl which was a beautiful, thoughtful gift,
long and wide and silky enough to use for a headscarf when that’s what’s needed.
Thunderstorms have been brewing, but they have not really covered us in glorious power yet this week, I would like that, some glorious thunderstorm power.
Thick air, steep path, woolen socks
when I long to be barefoot, but that would go badly.
We went further than we did yesterday
— a lot further —
and now there’s coffee.
I am exactly where I should be.
I didn’t want to turn on the light this morning.
The shade of cool grey out there is absolutely perfect,
some amalgam of cloud and fog
and a drizzle threatened, but not until later,
and the light is filtered into a gentle, cozy sort of daylight
that is not bold, but rather, kind.
Thick air,
thick green,
thick branches,
assailed on morning walk by thickness.
Today will not be a clear broth, then, but a thick stew.
Better get out the sketchbook and the good pencils.
Meadow grasses and some few flowers
Most of this summer profusion is green, green, green.
Two black dogs smell of sun in their fur.
A wise woman reminded me to be grateful for my privilege and use it to do good.
Air is thick unto choking with rain.
Woodpecker clearly does not care. He has bugs to catch!
Sun still,
Moon dark,
Let all things go.
An absolutely perfect day –
I can see the snow on Mount Washington and think of my Dad skiing in the summer.
Some anxious thoughts follow on the heels of an unsettling dream:
am I doing enough to protect the innocent?
how can I let a monster into that particular story?
I will re-assert control over my world by organizing the August calendar;
August is sufficiently far away that it will not take offense at my trying to organize it.