This afternoon I was standing in the stile (a series of steps or rungs over a wall or fence as a barrier to sheep or cattle) at the entrance to the thousand open acres behind the residency, and up by the peak was an eagle, then another one. I caught a far-away shot of one circling near the half-moon. I wish I had taken Shabda’s high magnifier camera. This morning: a pheasant and a redheaded woodpecker. At dawn the white peaks of the high western mountains turned pink and all shades of Waldorphian pastel…
There are four artists here and two writers. Seth and I disappear into the writing studios after breakfast and he writes prose while I rewrite poems and promise myself to come up with a new subject every day. The studio has a propane fireplace, a comfy chair, desk and writing chair as well. Windows look at the eagle cliff and curtains cut the snow glare. From first arrival a few days ago, each of us is stunned to be in this beautiful, creative environment, cannot believe our good fortune to be given this gift, and really given. The mother of this residency lets us be here free of charge. Our job is to create wows of visual art or wonderful word play.
The temperatures shift wildly from sort-of-warm in the afternoon sun to really really
chilly. The altitude is 4,000 feet. We get the local paper on the table every morning and .75 cents is the price printed on the first page. Last night the stars looked as if they had been washed, and the sky darkened to dramatize the arrangement.