Well here I am on Stinson Lake watching fish jump and hummingbirds fight each other off the feeders. I haven’t seen the beaver yet, the one who’s blazing new trails through the neighborhood to gather trees and build a dam to change the face of New Hampshire. Nor the swimming moose.
I find peace and quietude here, with two friends I’ve known for maybe thirty-five years. Jules is working from his office—a recliner, laptop, and shelf to hold his coffee—on a conference call. Nancy has gone back to a reading-in-bed-with-a-cup-of-tea status.
Me, I feel a story coming in to fluff the feathers of my mind and settle in the nest of nerves to grow.