Finally I am back--parked again here at my kitchen table with early-morning coffee and the pleasant melancholia of the harvest, which is another way of saying that I have far too many cucumbers in my refrigerator. In the way of most vacations, Mount Desert Island was both a soporific and a whirlwind: waking up in a quiet cottage with a view of the foggy sea overlaid by repeatedly cooking dinner for twelve people in a kitchen with six inches of counter space. But now I am home again in my own small yet well-counterspaced kitchen, pleased to be reunited with my favorite knife and a cutting board that is larger than a sandwich but regretting a lifestyle that seemed to be based entirely on taking a happy dog for walks in beautiful, insect-free forests punctuated by scenic rocky outcroppings and sudden broad portraits of the sea.

With hardly any Internet access for a week, I am only now beginning to catch up with the busy, chattery lives of the rest of you. Meanwhile, I did discover last night that the Sewanee Review has posted an excerpt from my essay "Dickens: A Love Letter," which you can read if you like.