Birch Island Books

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.

I have had Annual Coffee On The Dock With Cousin Carol.
The summer may begin.

I found sunlight on water this morning.

Sgiob crossed the stream on a felled tree with such dainty feet – it was an absolute pleasure to watch: trit, trit, trit, trit with the tips of her ears bouncing.

The green filled in this weekend past
making open paths into tunnels
through mystery
with only a hint of sky.

It’s going to rain – we can smell it!
and the new-summer-green of the leaves is carried in the air by the humidity and reflected back on us by the clouds.