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<\/p>\nEvery morning, out on the Island, I would wake up at around 5 a.m., my typical morning ritual. It was still dark out. Freezing. My kitchen window faced north. There was a deep ravine in between my house and the next house, which sat isolated on its own little hill. At dusk, with the sunset light, I could see the lawn up there literally thronging with deer, cut-out in black-paper silhouette. The deer problem is pretty bad out there, but that sure was a beautiful sight. Every time I looked at the house, it seemed different. Perhaps because of its isolation – no trees around it, no other houses, on a little hill – it reflected its surroundings. On a windy day, it seemed valiant and strong. At sunset, it seemed like a little cottage from a fairy-tale. And before the sun rose, it loomed like a magical ship in the night. Quiet and shrouded in shadows. I miss seeing that house. I looked at it probably 150 times each day, just to see how it was doing. What’s its mood now? How’s it hanging? How’s it holding up?<\/p>\n
I think about it from time to time. It’s still out there on that windy island!<\/p>\n
Here it is at 5, 5:30 a.m. one freezing wintry dawn.<\/p>\n
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Every morning, out on the Island, I would wake up at around 5 a.m., my typical morning ritual. It was still dark out. Freezing. My kitchen window faced north. There was a deep ravine in between my house and the … Continue reading