I'm well. It was a snow day (no work) today so I went out for Minca ramen, then stayed home and cooked/baked, watched a movie.
I had a long talk with Tim after workshop this past week, and we talked about my feelings about my writing/poetry--and he really tried very hard to help me "get to the bottom of it." We devised a plan for me to refocus/realign my writing sensibilities and to get me on the track that I want. He's been really happy with what I've been writing, but understood my concerns and wants me to be happy with what I'm producing.
I'm so grateful for his grace and understanding. That he cares enough to work through this issue I've been having. He read a few poems to me during our meeting (model poems with the kind of 'thinking' that he thinks I should try out--Stevens, Yeats, and Frost). I left the meeting (out into the hard falling snow) with a feeling of reassurance and comfort.
On my 15 minute break during my 4 hour workshop, I went out into a snow-covered lawn area--it was unmarked by tracks, and I stomped my way in the fresh powder, and plopped down in the middle of it. Sat in the dark, staring at the tree, the falling snow, lit by the lamp. Watched the snow grow heavy on the boughs. And noticed how they fell in clods around me.
Thank you for the music. I dream of Montauk with a turf of snow.
