Good morning from the homeland, where the trees are turning red and orange in a dry dusty way, and the lake shimmers in last light before dark, and the loon splashes and  wails. We lit a campfire by the water and sat out late. And then I went to bed and dreamed of my dead cat dying again, and of a crazy bus driver who needed to be overpowered before he crashed the bus, and of someone who kept referring to Marie Antoinette as Margaret Antoinette.