into the woods

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Sometimes, it’s essential to get away.

For my second retreat at Pointers Ridge,

I again bunked in the Writer’s Cabin.

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Though I had planned to write fiction,

I ended up writing an essay.

Not here …

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but here …

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…  because I craved space for the unexpected.

The gift, this time, was not inspiration …

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but clarity.

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I was welcomed.

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I was without time.

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I wrote late into the night,

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but drank the sunrise as well.

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Things didn’t go as planned. I drove to town for

emergency car repairs and <sigh> for work.

I was occasionally lazy. I took naps.

I made a mess.

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But in the mornings, the river kept pushing

the fog to the sky in smoky columns, which makes

more sense than some things in the world.

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Great writers have penned inspirations about

solitude and nature and time. I brought none

of those writers with me.

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Instead, I taped the words of

Hunter S. Thompson

above my laptop as I wrote:

“Buy the ticket. Take the ride.”

 

 

 

 

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