The room is small, but not uncomfortable.
Likewise the bed.
Nothing special. Bought from a local flea market, I imagine. Piece of crap by today's luxury standards. But it will do.
There's a desk, where I stack my clothes at night. I don't work there. I don't work at all, not like that. Not anymore.
The computer is in the office. Access is granted on a limited basis.
My window looks out into the back yard. A wide swath, a gently rising hill, a dense wood beyond.
They say we're on 42 acres, and there's a 500-acre state park beyond. That's a lot of wilderness these days.
There are three ponds on the property. One is large, two are small. In the summertime the smaller ones dry up.
One afternoon during a walk, I found a rusted old piece of farm machinery in the woods, under a tree, covered with mounds of pine needles. I puzzled for a number of days about this. Why is there an old piece of farm machinery in the middle of the woods? Who brought it out here, why did they leave it here, how did they maneuver it through the dense woods?
Then I realized, when the machine broke down, this was not woods. When the machine broke down for the last time, this was all pasture.
Now it's forest.
Many animals. Raccoons, chipmunks, field mice, red squirrels. Deer walk right up to the house to nibble at the bushes. In July a bobcat nonchalantly sauntered past on the back patio.
The trees are crazy with birds. Starlings, juncos, cardinals, bluejays, sparrows of course. At night, owls screech and dive for the mice. In the day, red-tailed hawks grab chipmunks off the ground and tear them to shreds in mid-air. I am told there is a goshawk in the woods as well. Goshawks look at bird feeders like you or I look at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Out to the left, an old potato barn at the end of a pebbled drive, now a garage.
The trees have finished their symphony of blazing glory for the year. Now it's mostly grey and black outside. It's a little creepy sometimes.
Currently, a thick mist hangs in the air, cloaking the house, dampening the nearby sounds.
The house breathes with the weather. As the year grows older, The ancient bones of the place swell and contract, creak and tick in the night.
It's quiet like you've never heard it before.
And dark. The nightlights are left on every night in every hall here. When they are off the house is blackness itself.
Not that I have occasion to wander the hallways at night. I sleep well. The air is good. If I need to get up in the night, the bathroom is just across the hall.
That's all for now. It's hard for me to concentrate sometimes.