I am in Forest Grove, Gary too far away. This week is the residency of the Pacific University MFA program, my alma mater. I am the emcee for the seven evening faculty readings. The faculty are astonishing and wonderful, the reading last night was wonderful, and I am filled with wonder.

So far, I attended the introduction by the program Director, Scott Korb, who shared that his son has abandoned baseball and taken up cross country. He described running as a lonely activity and said he’s not joined his son in that. [Scott Korb rock climbs with his teenager; the two of them challenging and together keeping one another safe.] I confided to him later that I began running because of my older son, because of the camaraderie and generally excellent coaching. But I will disagree with him about “loneliness” in running and writing. Both are essentially solo activities, it’s true. But I am never lonely when I’m actually writing, and never lonely while running.

Runs are quiet, early mornings, just after the dawn chorus, which I have been listening to as I sip my inferior coffee (nothing so strong as Gary’s).

I had lunch yesterday with two poetry students, one about to graduate. Throughout my first day, I found people willing to talk to me, to listen, to share their own stories and to hear mine. I was alone and missing Gary, but not lonely.

Yesterday, two craft talks; the faculty reading I introduced with Adrienne Christian, Omar El Akkad, and Pete Fromm in the large auditorium; and a student reading in a smaller one. I walked back to my dorm with another student from the other side of the country. This was a couple hours past my bedtime.

Faculty have been particularly gracious, especially Omar, whose last name I mangled. [No excuse except for my inevitably bad manner with names. I had rehearsed my introductions, but names… why do names always give me trouble? The other day I was remembering a student and recalled their face, their manner, and their writing quite clearly. Their name escapes me.]

Just now I am waiting until a decent hour before going out. I woke just after 4am, which is not so early for Gary and me. This is my morning, writing and drinking coffee until the sky is fully lit. The mug is also mine, the one I used for six summers at The Flight of the Mind, the generative workshops where I met wonderful authors anyone might aspire to emulate.

My usual routine is to walk 3-5 miles on a Saturday, but today I think I might run a mile, just one, and walk another because it feels good and because I can.