On the heels of a 3-day migraine, toddler finally over the cranky rash-virus, no plans with friends, no additional children to care for, no essay due, no freelance project, just emails to answer. A blank white calendar square. The to-do … Continue reading
Because I didn’t finish the long post I began this morning. Because I let the summer day take me where it wished. To the water. Big waves churning and breaking. My little girl running straight in. I chased her down … Continue reading
These ordinary moments. My toddler lets in the cat. Downpour washes out the humid air. Thunder sends her running with glee, announcing, “Fireworks, mama! Come see!” (Post 170 of 365)
My inspiring writer friend Rachel turned my attention to May Sarton this morning and started this first day of summer on the perfect note. A poem to keep like a prayer, rote, repeated, known. The Work of Happiness By May Sarton I thought of … Continue reading
I grew up next to a salt marsh. Tall grass and cattails, a muddy bottom estuary that filled and receded with the tide, meandering toward the town harbor. Low tide on summer nights, the breeze kicks up briny and strong. Good salt air. That is the smell of home.
As a girl I’d play behind the neighbor’s house, where the woods met the edge of the marsh. The trees made a canopy, dappled sunlight falling on a shallow pool of water surrounded by skunk cabbage and rocks. A small wood plank stretched between rocks allowing passage over the water. I’d hop from rock to rock, balance across the plank, poke the mud with a long stick, and make up stories out loud. I didn’t like to share that place. I preferred to be there alone, dreaming my words out loud to myself, Sarah, Queen of the Skunk Cabbage.