First Day at Vermont Studio Center

I'm in Vermont, at the Vermont Studio Center. I'll be here all month. All. Month. M. O. N. T. H.

And it's beautiful. I have a room to myself, and a studio office to myself, both rooms with views into the white, serene storm of creativity. Also, the storm of snow, which is also white. And the frozen river, white, and the houses also, and the sky. The Red Mill, where the lounge and cafeteria are located, is a bright barn red. Both the water that flows under the ice and the quickly plowed road are a coal black in contrast to the white of our reality.

My parents drove me up yesterday, a final time alone with them before I secluded myself in a small artist colony and they immersed themselves in the world of babysitting. Today was uncommonly warm for January, and the snow stuck to the ground but fell in heaps from the rooftops into the Gihon river, which rushes by my window as I write this. Ducks dare the current, jumping in for moments at a time, just before the waterfall, before bouncing back onto the banks or a large chunk of ice in the center of the river.

The wind is picking up now, and tomorrow will be cold, and the foreseeable days after that. It's blowing so hard it sounds like the building might just pick up and fly away. In Pittsh (nor can I afford to). Anyway, it's so beautiful here, and I was given enough fleece-lined tights that I'm compelled to spend as much non-writing time as possible exploring the woods with my snowshoes, once more snow comes to replace whatever melted, or hiking through with my high boots.

The food is divine and, for the most part, locally sourced. I did eat the fresh baked bread, to my stomach's distaste, but refrained from the strawberry shortcake. We'll see what tomorrow brings as I finally start to realign myself with my dietary needs.

The wind is blowing so hard it sounds like the building might just pick up and fly away. In Pittsburgh, we have wind, but the noise's power is usually minimized out by the sound of traffic and machines and people. Though at night, sometimes, I've awoken to the strong gusts that rattle me awake. I sit up and see everything inside, so still and loved, despite the chaos of outside the house. I hug E. and Major Tom and fall back to bed. Last night I woke to the strong winds that blew straight through my window with such force I could feel them like cold breath against my cheek. But in my studio I have a thermostat and a stack of books, and in both rooms I have a comfy chair by the window like I've always dreamed.

We'll see what dreams tonight brings.