The river has overflowed its banks and its another day for storm. Charleston claims this territory, his river, his domain. I shorten our walk in the wet woods, it's a traveling day for me, once again, and the dogs do not know this yet.
I walk and think about how I will lead my writing group this morning, what prompt I'll give for this day of meeting again after a three week absence. Whether we've left home or not, we have all been having our various adventures. I want to share a travel poem - I want to know what gift, what insight, what news each woman brings back to our group. I choose this one from Ursula K. LeGuin:
We read the poem aloud, taking turns in the circle. Then, I ask everyone to stand and we read the poem again, conscious of sense and sound, meaning and how the poem resonates through our bodies. Then, everyone writes, and the writing is spontaneous and reflective, creative and vulnerable. After one particularly vulnerable share, I realize what I have done by bringing this poem. I have acknowledged what has been felt in the group but left unsaid. This is who we are and what we make for each other: A finder's lodge. Each writer returns to our circle, she is always coming home, and making home for the others.
All photos and text copyright Kelly DuMar 2018, unless otherwise attributed