Matutinal Boathouse

Sometimes a word works better in another language. Matin. Matutinus. In English, matinal from the French and matutinal from the Latin. Relating to morning, or taking place in the morning. This matutinal boathouse photograph, seven years old this morning, sounds silly. In English. Matinal boathouse? Better.

I was asked a couple of days ago where I had been when I wrote a post.

“Sometimes I wonder where you are when you compose these updates,” she explained. “Where were you sitting? Or standing? Where were you walking? What was your perspective?”

“Cutting peonies on the front lawn,” I told her. “In the afternoon, looking up toward the croquet court.”

“Maybe you should include locations in your posts,” she wondered aloud.

Maybe. Considering whether or not that might be interesting. I like the idea, especially when I’m perched somewhere interesting. Picking peonies, for example.

Today’s tidbit was photographed from the top of our waterfront embankment, on the east shoulder of Lake Shore Road. And these words were composed in the icehouse loft at my standing desk *and* in the parlor.

Not sure if these contextual notes add or detract from the rest of the post.

Boathouse 
golden
melting butter
amber
butter browning

wooden
walkway
witnessing

The lake’s
patient pewter,
sunlight, mist,
and mountains
braid 

Sailboat
at anchor 
still,
suspended between
last night’s question
and this morning’s response.

trees tremble
leaves rustle

a slow unfolding

the arrival
of morning