Day 300

I have intentionally documented the past 300 days. I feel slightly in awe of myself; committing to anything recently has been extremely difficult. But for 300 days I have taken at least 3 photos in the day and I have written at least a couple of sentences. Not all of it is good, but some of it is really good.




I was asked yesterday if I were grieving and I answered I was continuing to speak to Mom every morning and ask her for the advice I would have asked her for if she were still alive.
"Do you feel a carved out hole when you talk to her?"
... a carved out hole, no, maybe some yarn pulled from the weave of the blanket
or
the handle of the cup gone
or
I noticed that there are fewer feathers in the pillow.
Grief is subtle, but I'm paying attention. I'm paying attention on Day 300





Hope and the Gull

The gull sat on the wall
his black striped tale feathers
in contrast with the bright white
body feathers ruffled by the wind.

He was not afraid of me.
He was able to let me close
enough to photograph
his orange make up and
slight dusting of tan head feathers.

This small beach that my
instincts brought us to
was sheltered, on the
Nantucket Sound with
break ways built every
100 feet dividing the beach into
segments the birds used.

Cormorant in one
plover and sand piper the next
gulls and I believe sea ducks

they floated
and scampered on the sand
as the water receded
picking up sea creatures
dozens of sea snails
all stuck together
gripping each other's homes.

The sun glistened off
the cold dark blue water
70 degrees on Oct. 23rd.

I chose not to go down
to the sea
for the first time in my life.
I stood on top and
made pictures
of you and the birds.

I chose not to go down to the sea.
Instead I stood with this
brave gull
transforming from adolescence
to adulthood, brown
feathers leaving white.

He and I chose
to sit in the wind
and watch as sea life
did what it
had to do to keep on living.
Witnessing the natural rhythm of time.