I live on a mountain, among the pines above a sea of cloud. When the tide is in the clouds sometimes come close enough to lap at the boards of the front porch. In the distance pine covered peaks rise above the clouds like floating islands. Eagles glide past my door, deer eat from my hand. My companions are wild things and the wind in the pines. I keep a vegetable garden, cut my own firewood, fish in the stream, watch the seasons pass. When it's cold I gather wood and make a fire. I always love the smell of pines and woodsmoke. The road to this place is steep and hard to find. Once here it can be hard to go back.