A Quiet Day, A Writing Day

Today was a quiet day. A writing day.

A day of accomplishment. A productive day.

A day in which words tangled then untangled as Brave Writer posts for the final week of One Thing: Poetry were crafted, revised--one posted and two ready to post later this week, only links to be checked.

A day in which teaching and joy merged, became one, as next Thursday's lessons for my co-op elementary poetry class flowed, the rise and fall of syllables as haiku and tanka swirled over pages, then printed, readied for copies.

A day in which this week's Brave Writer subscriptions, The Arrow and The Boomerang, bubbled forth, one finished and polished to a gentle shine, the other began, hyperbole as literary term explained, exampled, exhaled. Waiting on a final book to slide home, currently in transit from the library; all is in peaceful readiness awaiting its homecoming.

Essays still clamber impatiently, demanding their evaluations, their Thursday deadline looming. Time will be kind this week, a free afternoon Tuesday to allow my fountain pen to waltz across fonted pages, exhorting and encouraging, correcting and supporting. These high schoolers work hard and expect much; their preparations for in-class essays will lend me an extra hour of grading time if needed, in addition to my prep hour between elementary poetry and high school writing classes.

A peace fills me today, as the house sparkles in cleanliness, thanks to children's work this afternoon. Little B sweeps dust from mantel and tabletops, then struggles with unwieldy vacuum across the kitchen carpet, the whirring machine almost taller than he. His freckled face glows with accomplishment when he tugs the plug from the wall, secretly pleased with his work. J, rapidly approaching my height, scrubs upstairs and boys' bathrooms well while T, towering over both mother and father, swipes cobwebs from shadowy corners, vacuums hearth, then curls on sofa to rest, nose and throat red with a cold. E kindly pitches in, scrubs her bathroom and vacuums living room, allowing T to rest and recover. Dishes are done; sink is shiny white, counters wiped clear; all is pleasingly tidy and clean. Sparkling living quarters bring peace.

A restful evening of catching up on many unread blog posts--my sincerest apologies to those I read regularly and often comment upon; I hope to be caught up soon and back to my usual commentary. And Twitter is also read at last.

Life slowly swings back toward a pace of normalcy this quiet, rainy Saturday. While welcome rain soaks into the greening earth, pattering gently on the roof and through the oaken branches of thirsty trees.

A quiet day. A writing day. A productive writing day. A rainy day.

It was a beautiful day.