I'll take non-perishable food for three days, camera, toothbrush and such, sweats, walking shoes, extra pens, pads of paper, my revisions file, Hannah (my net book), enough gasoline to drive 205 miles, notes for the next chapbook (working title Our Girl: childhood poems). Oh, index cards and binoculars. Dog food, leash, dog. I won't need a TV Guide or a wifi card. I won't need a lot of mad money. I'm running away from home for three days, with good intentions to return. Although he's not crazy about riding in the car, Duncan the Dog loves the place we're headed for.
In the Wet Mountain Meadow, in Silver Cliff, CO, sits a sheltering jewel, a tiny house—Bloomsbury West— brightly painted, fenced yard, full view of the awe-inspiring Sangre de Cristo Mountains. There is a fireplace, but no television, no internet, no one I know. This last absence is vital. Because I love/like my family and friends, it's hard at home to withdraw into the solitude that I crave right now. The perfect setting for forgetting the daily distractions and writing. And walking, a little photography (That's fancying up my crude picture taking.), and lounging, eating simply, sleeping when I want, waking when it suits me. So don't look for me in any of my usual haunts from Thursday to Sunday. I am retreating from the battle for a few days.