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.

This is one of my first memories, looking up at a ceiling. It looks kind of like a swimming pool, like this.

The last two weeks I've been waking before sunrise. I haven't been sleeping very much; somehow no matter what I do my thoughts pull me out. First shower, then make tea quietly (very few clinks) then out the door and shut the screen carefully. Today my hair almost froze. It was cold but the wind felt good, still. There were geese up there, and down by the pond, the ducks were awake. I feel quietest in the morning after my thoughts have driven me out of bed, after they've been washed away, and before they have come back. It seems like I'm part of it all. Or it's there for me to see, like a scroll being rolled out.

This is a drawing of a sunrise out at my dad's land.