April 11, 2026
Waking to the sounds of birds outside my open window is deeply soothing. I am in the “treetops” room at the Porches in Norwood, Virginia for another writing retreat with Wellspring Writing Collective. I don’t recall being here for a spring writing retreat before. I think I have only been here in the fall when the valley is filled with autumn colors and the animals are hurriedly preparing for the colder weather. This weekend, in contrast, the trees are beginning to get their chartreuse leaves and flowers are blooming in pots and beds all around Trudy’s property. With the morning sunlight, everything has a yellow cast. It feels like the perfect place to reflect and prepare for the new life I am stepping into at the end of May.
The sun was rising over the river and fields below the Porches as I tiptoed downstairs to make coffee. Again, I am the first person up. I love the stillness of the early morning. I hear roosters crowing down the hill. A couple of geese squawk by the river. Many small birds cheep or trill in the trees near the house. A woodpecker drums on the tree outside my window. I bet it is the same downy I saw yesterday searching for ants in the maple tree. A pitter-patter of tiny feet above my head reveals a squirrel who launches himself into the branches of another tree nearby. If I get very still, I can hear the rushing of the river in the distance.
What I don’t hear are the lawn mowers, leaf blowers and constant movement of traffic that are so familiar in suburbia. I imagine this is what life here sounded like 100 or even 200 years ago. Modern technology like cars, phone lines and the internet do exist in this rural part of Virginia, but on an early Saturday morning in April, the animals take center stage. The natural sounds make me realize how much I miss in Richmond as I rush from one task to the next.
I suppose this is exactly why I should go on retreats. They give me time to pause and notice the sights and sounds I am often oblivious to in my normal life. I take time to read and write for hours. Conversations with other writers quickly turn deep and rich as we share our stories with each other over meals or sitting on the porches. Snippets of home and the outside world reach me occasionally through texts or emails, but I find my phone is forgotten for hours at a time. Meals, fellowship with other writers and walks along country lanes become more vital.
Oh, there is the sound I was missing! The donkey down the lane is braying. I was worried that he no longer lived here since I never heard him yesterday. This afternoon I will have to walk to the bridge that overlooks his pasture to say “hello” to my old friend.
The characters in this short story change each time I come here, but I am grateful for some familiar residents and fellow travelers on my journey. It brings me joy to reflect and acknowledge my own growth that has come in the intervening interlude between visits. The plot of my life has shifted dramatically. A new act is about to unfold. Yet, the setting and the tone of this antebellum hotel on the hill above the river and railroad tracks is the same. It is me who has evolved into a stronger, more resilient woman.
Mindful Musings 