Today was the day of raspberries. And meadowsweet. Loons—two diving, but no calls. I used my binoculars to watch water glisten (on their bills) in the late afternoon sun, and to identify a plant offshore. It was yellow. At first I wasn’t even sure it was there. Then, the way life often reveals itself, I saw many bladderworts. For a moment, I was looking somewhere else. And it was lovely. That place with birds. 

Notes from Windham

6.22.11

Arrived late, made pallet on the floor. Read part of an old story written by a dear friend--remembering the contagious joy of play. May I make a beetle friend again. That is my wish for today.

6.25.11

Went to Brattleboro with Mom. Arrived just in time to sit by the window... overlooking the train tracks, the river, the green hill... and get a chocolate covered macaroon to split.

6.26.11

Left late. Lightning bugs--their green lights floating.

6.30.11

I saw a monarch butterfly today--

my first of the season.

I thought of you, and that poem I wrote

of promises like leaves

     about to fly

And I thought of how you should

come visit (me)

     come write

The heart does not hold time

The same way as the mind

It is still the beginning (to me).

7.3.11

Began mowing the yard and discovered handfuls of strawberries, wild--teeny, each one, but full of flavor. Picked some for my mom.

7.10.11

Mow Slowly! Frogs everywhere... (reminds me of driving through New Mexico--rabbits--way too many of them to be safe for all parties). I try naming the plants as I mow... Moneywort, Harebells, Heal-all, Bird's-eye Speedwell, and Deptford Pink. I need to learn my grasses. And the ferns! A raspberry. Yum!

7.11.11

The sky is hazy, a little overcast. I think thunderstorms are in the forecast again. The daylilies, deep orange, are blooming. Last weekend I feared seeing the first goldenrod in the field. (But I didn't have my glasses on, and I didn't put them on either). I'm not quite ready for that. The harebells are passing, but I'm painting the trim in my bedroom the color of them. Fingers still crossed that it's working--bringing the outside in.

7.13.11

A bee fly came and sat on my pen.

Stood, actually. I don't think they ever sit.

Its face twitched. Well, eyes.

I don't think they're more than eyes

(from what I can see).

It looked at me long enough to make me think

we know each other. Knew each other

in a different life. He loved me.

It didn't matter that he had to leave;

that I was a grasshopper and he was a bear.

7.14.11

Light breeze. Cool air. Sun casting shadows of maples across the lane. Something in the dryness of leaves--a papery shifting--says fall is on its way.