Passing the brook I see the reflection of autumn – the leaves starting to go red. Charlie wades in and ripples the picture. I have nerves in the woods this morning; excitement expressed in an anxious butterfly feeling. Being in the woods, walking, it’s calming. The woods are a good place to breathe deeply. Today I produce my 12th annual Our Voices Play Festival, and soon I will be starting the day, welcoming the playwrights, holding the space, creating the space, collaborating. I’ve done it so many times I know what I’m doing and I know what needs to be done. And yet, there is so much unknown. How will everything be received? I have so much support and help from my family, the other playwrights. Every one of these stories, I want them to be heard. And they are. We have a great house; I’m so pleased and grateful for the turnout, that these stories will be heard; the actors, so generous and talented! Tonight, I’m filled to the brim with yes, yes, yes. This evening of women’s stories on stage matters. After all the applause, the hugs, the satisfaction, I drove home with my daughter and we couldn’t stop talking because she helped me tonight and we were reminiscing about the years and years of doing plays together in Boston we had while she was growing up. She was my muse as a teenager. We were powerful collaborators; she acted in so many of the plays she inspired me to write. I’m grateful to know now, to realize how unique and special those years were, and how much they meant to us both.