With uncharacteristic spontaneity, I decided a few weeks ago to sign up for a one-day writing workshop in Seattle with David James Duncan, a long-time favorite writer of mine.  My parents very graciously funded the trip, knowing just how much it would mean to me. I knew I had dangerously high hopes for the day: a feeling of independence, steps toward finding my voice as a writer, connecting with a favorite author, and connecting with other writers and writing-mentors.  My hopes were exceeded in all areas!   There is way too much to describe here; it will take months or years for everything I heard to percolate down inside of me.  Already, it feels like a dream.

One of the highlights was my table group.  We practiced writing exercises and shared with one another, offering suggestions and encouragement quite naturally.  On the plane back home, I wrote this poem.  I think, in some way, it is about them.  I also had some editorial help from them via email last night - the gift keeps on giving!

I am grateful today.

Dance of the Beacon-Moon
The beacon-moon glows
over the lights of the city.
She is struck through by three thin clouds.
She firmly beckons as she glides higher
in her imperceptible dance of joy
and gratitude.
Her light is blue –
it casts delicate shadows across the floor.
At dawn
she is a dream of a moon:
a flat white circle fading into a sea of blue-gray cloud.
She softly goes, until –
at the last –
the clouds break,
and she flares bright
in all her dimpled beauty.
How silently she gives.

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