FREEDOM! For Six Weeks
Hello again, Reader, I am home! Forty-six days later I’m back in the north, where summer has come humid and rainy. As I look out the window of my lovely girlfriend’s rental apartment window, the sky is a mix of brilliant white and dark gray. Trees are fat with emerald leaves, and a fleet of summer birds hop from canopy to canopy, competing in their personal song competitions, creating a wonderful choir that is the tune of summer. The air is sweet with pollen and the calming scent of wet everything. I’m the type of guy that sweats on humid days by just sitting and taking it easy, but I’m not complaining. I can’t express how wonderful the sound of rustling leaves, (one of my favorite sounds in the world), and birdsong is after six and a half weeks aboard a hulk of iron and electricity; constat vibration and, at times, rocking and rolling to the waves. I do believe in grounding in some measure, for the feeling of plopping my bare feet into a patch of dirt and/or grass just does wo...