It's dark out .. it's been raining, and the wind is rising now ... but in the FFA cabin at Cedar Lakes, the writers have lit the candles, pulled up the blankets, and started something.
Would've been a good night for a seance ... the wind is howling now, spooky as anything ... and every time the candles flicker, the writers jump a little, and shiver deliciously in the after-midnight hours. Outside smells of rain, and, more faintly, of the bonfire that burned away hours ago. Once in a while a voice will call, but it is not much more than a whisper above the night.
This is a night born for words the writers wouldn't speak if it were day. Some speak them now, and others take the steep path and write them down, saving them for the sun-bathed morning that will inevitably come. Tomorrow brings the end of things, and the lives waiting for the writers back home are beloved day by day ... only not after this.
Here are the writers' pages, to be read in cozy rooms by light of candles, or by day in flourescent computer lab lights, in the spirit of rainstorms.