More than once this morning I wade through water up to my calves where the river has flooded the trail. Tonight, once again, the rain is heavy as I head to bed. In the woods this morning I’m tired, up early, not enough sleep, but so grateful to take this time to myself to be quiet and alone after a busy day and night yesterday. All day I’m busy writing thank you’s and sorting pictures from the play festival to post; and, alternately, all three of my children want some of my time, which I gladly give: editing and consultation on plans and one just needing me to be a good listener. It isn’t until late afternoon that I’m able to focus on what writing I will bring to my group tonight and I begin to worry that I’ll have to head into the city empty handed. Which I’m not willing to do. I will not waste my Monday night. So, I just get it done. Rushing more than I like, I carve out a piece of my long essay which I haven’t touched in weeks) and get it quickly revised and it’s rougher than I’d like it to be, but it will do. When I first started this essay I had no idea what a long process writing it would be. Now I see this project will take at least a year, if not more, and my patience is growing.
