Sunday night we met each other, ate dinner with a new friend, made introductions. Mary Pinkoski inspired us with her poetry and wisdom. We walked among the trees and wrote upon roots. We personalized our mugs, sang songs around the campfire. Kim Firmston read to us from her book while we sat with crisscrossed legs in pyjamas. We talked beneath our bedsheets until the moths disturbed conversations. And we slept.