And now the Harmony diaspora part of my week begins: dinner last night with ex-Harmony folks who now live in southern Maine; today and maybe tomorrow, overnight visits from various northcountry friends. Being a central Maine expat has turned out to be a strange and intense bond. I spent much of last evening talking to a young man I've known since babyhood, who now has a high-powered NYC job--the sort of job that is hard to quit--but is deeply homesick for Harmony. Such a familiar tale . . . for me, for my younger son. Who are we, with our small floating souls, who mourn place so deeply? Why does it happen to some of us but not to others?