I had a visitation from Baron last night in my dreams. He looked and acted like himself, though he was driving a Mustang. I looked and acted like myself, though I was also immersed in my familiar dream distress about forgetting to feed my goats. In this dream it was my job to empty out the barn, scrub it clean, right down to the concrete floor. Then, and only then, would Baron show me how to repair the cracks. And I did get that barn clean, the cleanest barn floor you ever saw, webbed with almost invisible cracks. But of course the dream faded away before I learned how to fix them.

Yesterday morning we drove over to Ship Harbor to watch the waves crash on the rocks, then spent the afternoon on a somewhat too cold deck overlooking the marina at Southwest Harbor watching an 80-year-old gravel-voiced powerhouse named Roberta sing and strut and play the piano. It was pretty great.

Today we'll probably get out for a more serious hike, and we'll need to do some firewood chores for our friend before the rain comes in. But for the moment I am recovering from my visitation. My dead friend Jilline still visits me regularly. But Ray has never visited me. I did not expect Baron, and here he was.