Post from Post-Everything

It's been one week since I left New York and my lovely little Brooklyn apartment. Now, I sit right where the above picture is my view. I am am learning the lay of the land, the thick oak smell of the fast-coming fall. The low hanging grapes, the harvest upon us. I have forgotten all about what it is to be here. I am at once homesick and home.

I am not in a writing routine yet, but I feel it looming. The town is not much different, but also very different. I walked into the local liquor store that seemed much wider and cleaner. And I said, "Wow, this place looks different." They explained that there were new owners and that there had been some trouble with selling alcohol to minors. "Oh, I was SO one of those minors I replied." And here I am not even carding age.

I am getting comfortable slowly with the sounds. A good wind up the mountain can sound like a hurricane. I can hear leaves fall and I think it's giant animals. And here is a new sound: the sound inside. The one that says, "Wait, what have you done?" And also, "Thank you, thank you."