Ripton, Vermont. 15 August 2008.
Dinner at the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference is served at six in the dining room of the main building of the old Inn. In 2008, on our third night, a grey afternoon cleared while we were eating, and after dessert it seemed the entire conference walked out across the road to the stone wall along the meadow or stood in the road—there was no traffic—new acquaintances and old friends from previous summers snapping pictures, as if we were all thinking not just how lovely it was but what the likelihood was of such light again while we were there.
