The soft focus of entering the wide open meadow. A slight mist. Drops of moisture lighting branches, drops of light. Fragments of ice, windows opening into the trees in the brook water. This is not a typical Wednesday. No Farm Pond Writers. I was supposed to be on a plane heading off on an adventure. I am here, exactly in this meadow, these woods, this day, exactly where I need and want to be. Here is my family. I woke with the happiness of realizing I would be spending the day with my daughters. A spontaneous chance: we go to an 11:00 a.m. play in Harvard Square at the A.R.T., Gloria (based on the life of Gloria Steinem.) I ride in to town with one daughter; ride home from town with the other. How much I have missed the chance of long, uninterrupted conversation with my girls filling my ears. This show was quite an amazing show. It can be a powerful experience even if it’s not theatrically exceptional. It’s an experience that changes lives. Dinner brings more surprise and pleasure as the family gathers. It’s sweet to have been missed. Our children are happy we’re home. Charlie and Suzi are happy we’re home. I will miss our dear friends who are traveling without us. Oh, the willow sticks on the river’s edge glowed with a warm, fiery heat as I stood at the edge of the Charles by the Trestle bridge. In the quiet and warmth I felt home.