"Poems have their own lives, beyond the subjects I assign them. Each must have its own DNA, and be born shivering." ~ Jenny Grassl, in Tupelo Quarterly

Had to set an alarm; so hard to wake up early this week. But, then I woke up at 6 without prompting. Asked Frank if he’d bring me coffee in bed, which he did. I had some work to catch up on for another busy day with the Charles River Writers workshop in the a.m., and then a writing consult for a client in the afternoon and a Playback Theatre & Writing webinar tonight. Walked a couple of miles with the dogs in the March-wet woods and found some lovely photos of tree bark and rock––noticing color and texture in woods that are still much more winter than spring. Then, a swim. Had to cut it short, but got 20 minutes anyway, as the lanes had to be given to some kind of meet. Such a rich day of writing. I listened, on the way home from the pool. to Zelensky’s address to Congress, which was quite moving and riveting. The horrors worsen unabated. The children. A madman sent soldiers into a country that doesn’t belong to him or owe him a thing and they are killing children because they can––and because they want to, and because they mean to. My daughter, grown, the youngest, meets me at 7 on Zoom. We put the finishing touches on our playback and writing webinar. A very nice showing of participants, all eager to be spontaneous, playful, involved. It’s lively and vibrant. My daughter and I work seamlessly together, trusting each other. It’s fruitful, and meaningful and worthwhile. To prompt stories, to listen deeply, to engage people with self-expression, to make art out of the thick air of these moments together. To generate vitality and imagination and hope is a necessary and vital act.