On the verge of the woods, I came across another woman walking her dog. The dog was very big and agressive, and she could barely control it as it tried to attack me. It completely broke the spell of the woods, it was like waking up, realising where I really was.
Once at the venue, I tried to build my safe space, with the sticks, my carpet and the canvas. It was still raining and stormy, and each time I finally managed to build some kind of structure, the wind would tear it all down, sticks hitting me in the face, canvas flying through the air.
I then realised that I had no trees to protect me and no soil to plant my sticks in. All there was, was concrete. So I had to find bricks to steady my construction, and still, the wind would rip it appart. As the day went on I added sand bags, palettes, screws, and stones. My construction looked more and more like a raft and my struggle against the elements was not representative at all for my experience in the woods. At the end of each day I was soaking wet, angry and tired and still, the construction would fall apart after several hours.
I then decided that I would not try any longer. I would just go with it. The last day, the sun came out and the wind blew into the sail, drying my carpet, children would sit on it and play or would listen to my stories from the woods. Little by little, four new sentences were emerging.