Whidbey, I hardly knew ye

After a shuttle bus, ferry, cross-country plane ride, and cab, I landed safely at home last night after ten days on gorgeous, green Whidbey Island, a magical land populated by bald eagles and driftwood and Frighteningly Dumb Deer and, for these days, Rambunctious MFA Students, to whom I belong. Here is where we were.



I know.

We discussed Shakespeare and craft and truth and poetry and teaching and metaphor and life, and also everything else in the known universe. I learned things about myself, like for instance, I have almost no need for sleep, and a great fondness for snow-capped mountains (which peeked out around Wednesday and stayed the rest of the time). We listened/sang along to umptymillion late-night mandolin renditions of such classics as Ms. Spears’s “Toxic”; we went from acquaintances to BFFs; we ate and drank well, roasted faculty in the poetry competition (I turned in a mediocre but heartfelt impression of Lauren Winner), made Shakespearean-inspired jokes and drinks, and read and wrote. I found direction for my work and identified the spot in my writing I need to press into, and thought about my upcoming theses. I also wandered along the beach before dinner and let the wind blow my hair into wild curls and just watched the sun set over the water.

Basically, perfect.

I have some more substantive thoughts brewing and at some point they’ll boil over and onto this blog, but for now, I’ll just write my overdue class lecture for tomorrow, and pine for the island.