I don't know where my home is. It's all too easy for me to romanticize poetry, prose, and song lyrics with lines like, "when I die, won't you bury me in the town where I was born," but the truth is that I've got no love for the town I was born in, and only minimal appreciation for the town in which I've spent most of my life. Don't get me wrong, it's a great place to spend some time. In fact, so many folks think so, that it's a very popular tourist destination. I'm just not captivated by it. I suppose that there's a lot of truth to the old adage "home is where the heart is." If only I could find my heart.

My favorite time of year; Cold autumn nights, changing foliage, earthy smells, and migrating birds of prey. Every October day spent in northern New England is a gift. Life is good.

"Ah, when to the heart of man was it ever less than a treason to go with the drift of things, to yield with a grace to reason, and bow and accept the end of a love or a season?"

-Robert Frost