Thick clouds, wet woods, swollen river. Late night, early morning, cranky mood. So, I focus on my breath – and each spongey step on the slick earth, and breathe in color, the deep and lively greens of the plants still thriving along the trail. Something remarkable happens, a pleasant surprise: passing the swamp, a woman in raincoat and leggings and hat, with a lab, jogs past me and says, “Kelly?” Ah, it’s Susie, who is in one of my local writing groups. She lives nearby, but we have not met in the woods before. If she hadn’t called me by name I would not have known her and stopped. This chance meeting lightens my mood considerably, because she is warmed by the writing she’s doing in my workshop.
At my desk, I talk to Jane about her experience performing her monologue at Our Voices, what she learned, what she felt. I want her to submit it to other play festivals for production and she likes the idea, so I walk her through how to begin that process. The house is so much quieter today, a scattering of beings, and I have the place to myself. All day, there is the sound of steady rain on the windows and roof and I want to feel dry and warm but my feet are cold. I have three workshops in the next two days, and so I am warming up to creating these experiences: what should I bring? What should I facilitate? My intuition stirs. I find the poems I’m looking for. A plan begins to shape itself. And the rain, rain, rain is falling on all the trees and into the river, swelling.