All night long I have been listening to acorns klonk down on a metal roof. It's been strangely soothing--something you might not expect from a klonk. But I like sleeping in Wellington: the night sounds of the woods, the rich dense air. 

In a few minutes I'll hoist myself out of bed and start pulling myself together for the day. I've got a 40-minute drive to Monson, and then a first day of school to manage . . . though the morning won't be my responsibility, so as work days go it will be pretty low key. I'll take the back way this morning--over the gravel roads through Kingsbury, with a quick stop to stare out at the pond, and then up long empty Route 16 to Abbot. Trees and trees. Trees and trees.

So much looks the same in this place. I might never have left. Except that I did.