home

I long for vermont. I have a need to be under the birch trees, looking at nothing in particular on the lake, with at least one person that I love, if not a half-dozen or so. when the wind blows the big black ants fall from the trees on us and tickle our legs. perhaps they drown in our cocktails. a very good way to go.

in the evening I need to be at least knee-deep in the lake, casting my trusty muddler minnow to the young bass in the shallows. all the cottages have a perfect view of me there, but really they dont see me: I'm part of the scenery now.

as the sun sets over the mountain, maybe we'll go out on the end of the dock and watch the bats come out for their evening meal. or wander up the hill to one of the cottages to take part in a lot of laughter and some quality beverages. or cruise the lake a little. it doesnt really matter, as long as we're together.

in the morning it will be about 50 degrees. the field will be wet with dew as the goldfinch undulate across. and we'll start all over.

next year. and even better, we'll relive it through new eyes.