True-to-form, I'm back and grumpy. I'm annoying myself.
I'm sullen about re-immersion in modern culture, resentful that people call this city life living.
My beach, my silence and tide pools? Where's my mossed path and library of botany, geology, Lewis Carol and Chesterton's verse? Where's my damn view??
R has to deal with my trucculence - me flopping about, sniffing my balsam sachet like a smelling salt that will spirit me from this world back to that Maine one.
I emerge to civility, but not without wishing my apartment had view of rocky shores, that my move upstate was in a few days not months, and that Starbucks on 76th and Columbus would get socked in with fog.
C - feet on pavement, mind on the rocks
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