Amazing what time and space will do.
Unexpectedly, we've had the Millay Colony entirely to ourselves for almost a week now.
A previous colonist left a few hours before we arrived on Sunday.
THANKS for the scallop risotto!
Three others are due over these next days.
Calliope is off to the Superbowl.
Imagine - the person who manages residencies here is named for the Muse of Epic Poetry.
We spent our first night in the Barn that you see in the photo background. That's where I spent my residency years ago, and I specifically requested space there this time.
When Ponczka learned spots in the new building were free, the battle of wills began.
She won.
The new building IS more comfortable, and more practical:
the kitchen is here, internet is here, studio lighting is better, it's less drafty.
But it's so much less romantic! So much less writerly!
Oh well. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE, according to the old sci-fi movies.
Yesterday, I lugged the Beast down to the Barn and wrote in my old studio for awhile. It satisfied the craving.
I found my name where I scratched it into the wood of the doorframe in May 2K, with the message, THRIVE! So many other names since, the ones from earlier years fading.
We inhabit an extraordinary space here. Not just spacial, but temporal, creative...who knows what else. We feel like beings with mountains for beds, clouds for pillows.
Every gesture comes out a dance.
I like to dance, too. I hope the Muse is loud.
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