Even though the woods are wet, very wet, I feel so grateful for the warm sun on my face this morning, under a sky without clouds, with the strange and fantastic mushrooms sprouting and toppled everywhere. A hint of color is in the trees, reflecting on the river which keeps spilling more and more over its banks. I walk over the trestle bridge, through the meadow, cross the street and into another meadow which is surprisingly busy: a team of young high school girls running around the trail in the sunshine. We stay out a long time feeling cheerful, full of energy, soaking up sunshine. It’s a glittering mood inside and all around us; the meadow waking up. It is the day before my annual play festival, and soon I am busy writing the program and writing the playwrights and wrapping up all the details. The whole thing feels especially manageable this year, and stressless. So many years I have stretched myself into a non-stop day twelve hour day with twenty or so playwrights - always enjoying it, always making a success of it. But this year, with a third less playwrights, I feel calm and centered. Then, I spend some good time on my book, happy in the messiness, working toward order, not confused, not stressed. I feel, while working, the way I felt while walking in the meadow: cheerful, shined upon, fresh, enlivened and my ideas, like the web, like the meadow grass, even seem to glitter a little as I place them on the pages.