Reflecting on the Vermont Studio Center

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I feel like the Vermont Studio Center was a rift in time/space where I got to be my true self and roam the woods and town with similar spirits. In NYC I doubt that time’s existence less and less. Could it have happened? Was there a bonfire, a pool deck filled with friends, art underway, a basement with a piano, a dream café, a friendly ghost, a bookstore where my chapbook sold out, and a bar named Wicked Wings? Was it cold, was there a bed with a pink blanket, did I sleep well and dance, did I eat blueberries by the river at 2am? The only proof I have: photographs, many words, ruined clothes, a thermos, and a recurring dream of swimming… ♡♡♡