Day 18 (August 1): A Sumptuous Feast

We have been feasting all week: splendid breakfasts in the hotel restaurant, highly creative Scottish food for lunch (every day a different treat), and a multitude of home-baked goodies for morning and afternoon coffee/tea. Here is a sampling of our hotel breakfast bar (the metal chafing pans contain eggs, sausage, bacon, potatoes, haggis, braised tomatoes, and sautéed mushrooms):

This noon’s lunch was a case in point, and I think the photos speak for themselves:

The lunch room 

But there are other kinds of feasts to be had at this Scriptoria. Our poetry cohort, for example, read and discussed six fine poems today, one of which will make its appearance at the end of this blog entry. A charming and entertaining Sheridan Voysey spoke to us in the morning session about the artist’s deep need for friendship, and encouraged us to view friendship as one of the spiritual disciplines. In the afternoon he led us through four essentials for compelling storytelling. And the poetry cohort’s brilliant teacher, Linda Nemec Foster, led us on the adventure of writing our own prose poems and a Japanese form of poetry called a haibun. 

In a sense, we are feasting on a diet of creative thinking and encouragement. And our poetry group, small but mighty, is also enjoying laughter around our table—so much so that we are told to quiet down a bit, for goodness’ sake. It’s lovely.

We are enjoying conversations that range from writing to history to family to adventuring to where to eat dinner out, and often speak of some of our deepest challenges in life—as writers, as parents, as Christ-followers. Here is a poem that touches on one of those subjects: an appointment that will come for each of us:

The Appointment

Death will come to see me one day

in his three-piece suit of crimson

and tie of burning rain.

I will look him in the eye and recognize him

for the first time.

I am hoping we can visit for a while—

at least a day. I have questions.

But there may not be time for conversation 

or even a cup of tea.

Still, I don’t suppose it’s up to me.

We may shake hands only briefly, 

with hardly any chance for me to say 

good-bye, 

and thank you.