Nice to be back, to my spot of solitude, up on Green Mountain, off trail, where no one else comes and goes, to sit on a dead log, by an old path, by pine and spruce, in birdsong, to share a stare with a deer, past the stones, past the wounds, watching the sun light up the Kinnickinick, feel the chill in the November wind, to be still in the silence, to know I can still come here on foot, feel the emotion of how long it’s been, how hard it’s been, to just be glad I’m back here again.