Spending time in spring woods, in the company of the interrupted ferns - unfurling heads and arms that wave in a friendly way as I pass by. Today was a writing day, a steady, uninterrupted few hours with my essay, finding new ways to refresh and integrate, and incorporating suggestions from my critique group. A satisfying time. And a poet friend sends me a poem of hers to comment on, and it's a gorgeous, intimidating (to me!) piece of writing. At first, I'm afraid my feedback is not very helpful. She writes back and we're having, now, a dialogue, and she asks me what I think her poem means, and that's the way in, for me, as I tell her, line-by-line, image by image, what I think it means, and finally - here is a breaking through - I am understanding and appreciating what she's doing in this poem, and what I was afraid I couldn't make sense of is now clear; and the emotional impact of her poem reaches me, as an experience, as insight, as understanding. I see she doesn't need to change a word – and I'm enriched by our exchange.