Writing Retreat:Tuesday's Reflection

Settling into a new space never takes me long. Granted I have had lots of practice in my life. I like unpacking--much more than packing, and I like creating a feeling of home, even when it is temporary, as in a few days.

Here I am in Two Harbors, Minnesota with a view of Lake Superior. A dear friend who is a poet invited me to spend time with her at her family's time share. My husband and I have been here before with them, but for a few days it is just we two writers. 

When she picked me up Sunday morning, I warned her about all I was bringing with me. Not many clothes, but a couple bags of food, including lentil soup I made for us and Honeycrisp apples and a substantial loaf of brioche bread from Golden Fig, a gourmet food shop not far from our house. The owner assured me I would never want to eat another kind of bread--great for French Toast or grilled cheese or just slathered with butter. 

I look forward to that, but the main reason for being here, other than time with my friend, is to write. I filled a roller bag suitcase with my writing supplies, as if I were going to be here the rest of the winter. I explained to my husband when he wondered about how heavy my suitcase was that I am beginning the draft for a new chapter in my spiritual memoir. "I am not sure of the focus yet for this chapter, and I don't want to get stuck because I don't have what I might need." Thus, a suitcase of old journals and key books I read during the years that will be the subject of the new chapter. I brought a printer, too, because I like to print out even the roughest of rough drafts. Fortunately, my writing friend understands and didn't make fun of me as we loaded her car. 

And now here I am. Ready, set go.

Within minutes of being here I set up my desk area on one end of the dining room table. The printer is behind me on a tv table. 








I can see the lake from where I sit. The shore is dotted with old snow, but the water is open with quiet ripples. 

Quiet ripples. That's what I feel, too. 

Quiet ripples of ideas and thoughts and images to explore. Time and space to explore where those reflections take me and become words on a screen. Calm energy to honor the task I have set before myself. All with the lake in front of me, its depth, its vastness, its beauty, its receptive energy. Home to my soul and my creative spirit.

The last thing my husband said as I opened the car door was "Be productive." As I write this on Sunday evening, I hope that the coming days will, indeed, be productive. How nice it would be to return home with this new chapter's first rough draft, however rough, but whatever the word count, I know I will carry home with me the gentle flow of quiet ripples. 

May it be so.

An Invitation
What quiet ripples are you feeling in your life? I would love to know. 

NOTE: Last April I went on a writing retreat, also. You can read about that here.