In the mountains, the beautiful, little green bumphills with that beauty mother lake with the turtle under the dock that tries to snack my toes if I stay unkicking too long. Sucking down emails whenever I come to town, pick up messages, remember the rest of the world - when I'm not pining for them. Read 6 novels this week, and got another five from the little library, where they nod like it's no big deal when I tell them I don't have a phone number.
Glorious seclusion. Sweet, slow starvation. This land is my land. It tousles my hair, teasing of course you'll come back here. We're holding your heart hostage.
