I'm like a Goose,

once or twice a year I need to pack my bags

and take a trip

I decided to skip another day of work and stay out here. Autumn turning into winter in Vermont is like the relief of leaving a funeral- and being alone in the woods is my annual ceremony.
Alone. Thoughts crumble around in my head and bump up against empty mirrors. I don't like James Bond. In fact, I've got a whole backpack full of things I don't like: Stale coffee-shop bagels, gravel throated basement wanna-rockers, and baseball. These are the fractions divisible by zero.
But these "problems" are as vacant as the skeleton oak limbs, and their absence makes clatter bump in my brain. Alone I am free to,,, walk downstairs and look into a thinning freezer, smell old cheese and not remember whether it acts like wine or bread, wander to flip the edges of a wrinkled math book, wander back to the computer.
After two or three days the sunsets start reminding me of shifting expressions, conversations minus looks and words- the wonderful insoluble equations. I want to hate bad bagel's. I want to not go see "Bond: Explosions in the Royal Palisade." I want to dump my backpack out, and fill it up again.