Into the car they jump, and when we turn on Hospital Road Charlie starts moaning excitedly. He knows where we’re going and whom we will meet. Charlie is all sense memory - joy wriggles through his body. I park at the old Medfield State Hospital lot to wait for my friend and wander across the field to the clock tower. Turning back, we spot them, and Charlie races toward my friend and her two dogs, our walking pals, we’re reuniting after a long two months. So, I am talking about everything I’ve done and felt and listening to everything she’s done and felt: our kids, our work, our heart’s desire. We talk about turning sixty and being sixty, this coming of age of our womanhood. We move through the trees and mud under the blue sky and in the green pines, above the river in the ledge, looking down at the Charles River from this hill of rock, walking and talking our way back up more hills to the lot. Today, I write, I work on my Florida post card poems, revising the Gulf in my imagination. Tonight, live and in person, I rejoin my Monday night group and I know I’m making progress on my project.