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Between the trees, among the leaves.

So tomorrow I head up to Connecticut for the rest of the week. I'll be doing a good deal of chores--closing down the lakehouse for the season, painting and mending, and so forth--but I look forward to the time spent among the trees and the leaves, the wind and the cold.

(Mind you, it's not normally that cold when I visit, but I've never been up there this late in fall...and it's in the mountains...like, the highest mountain or something...it's in a cute town, though....)


Anyway, I love this place. My family's had a lakehouse up there since the 1930s; it's got this stolid, stonelike quality to it. Immovable. Of course it's really made of wood, and being 80 years old needs a bit of work now and then. Which is my excuse for going up this weekend, to do some work to fix it up a bit and close it down for the season.

I'm excited. A bit of time to go clear my head and look at some nature and think, if I must, or write, if I can. Honestly, just spending time there is more than enough reward as far as I'm concerned. But right now--I could definitely use some me-time.

Work's continued to be stressful and herky-jerky. I still don't know if I want to stay and continue working there or leave, or when I'd leave if I did decide to.... I'm still trying to figure out my writing, what I want to do with it, how, all that. There's a lot on my mind; sometimes recently it's been getting to me.

But the lake. Oh, the lake and its trees. I'll freeze my ass off and work a bunch during most of the 3 days I get to spend there or whatever, but, frankly, I'll be happy.


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Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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