into the woods

Sometimes, it’s essential to get away.

For my second retreat at Pointers Ridge,

I again bunked in the Writer’s Cabin.

Though I had planned to write fiction,

I ended up writing an essay.

Not here …

but here …

…  because I craved space for the unexpected.

The gift, this time, was not inspiration …

but clarity.

I was welcomed.

I was without time.

I wrote late into the night,

but drank the sunrise as well.

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.

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.

Great writers have penned inspirations about

solitude and nature and time. I brought none

of those writers with me.

Instead, I taped the words of

Hunter S. Thompson

above my laptop as I wrote:

“Buy the ticket. Take the ride.”