The first nor’easter hit New York and I am sitting in what I now think of as my writing room observing the snow as it lays unevenly across the landscape; heavy winds left some ground completely exposed while in others there are three or four inches of accumulation. The cold is bitter, with a wind chill driving the temperature down about fifteen degrees.
So, warm and cozy, with a big mug of coffee, I am listening to female jazz vocalists and letting my mind wander across the wintry landscape to catch what thoughts it might.
Having promised Jeff Cole, head of the Digital Center for the Future, I would write an article for him, I successfully put it out of my mind while traveling and, now that I am back, must face the music and think about it.
If anyone has ideas for a good article, please let me know. I have a couple floating around but this won’t be the last of my articles for the Center, just the first.
The sun is almost blinding off the snow, now that it is coming out. I had to figure out how to lower the shades – everything works off electronics here and I am still figuring out how to turn on and off the lights.
It’s a good afternoon; I’ve put laundry in as the housekeeper didn’t make it over this week and Lionel is arriving, so I am getting clean sheets ready for him. I am feeling like I am back in America again and ready for the next adventure, which seems to be a trip back to the Vineyard to help out at Edgartown Books before Christmas though I am still waiting on final confirmation on that. If not, I might go to Nashville to visit friends who are cranky I have yet to make an appearance since I have entered the vagabond phase.
One of the things I have noticed since I began traveling is the elasticity of time – a few days in St. Malo felt like a few weeks and seven days at sea felt like seven hours. Two days in Heidelberg seemed two hours. Five days in Wiesbaden felt like five weeks.
It reminded me of times in my youth when I felt a lifetime was lived in a few days, especially if romance was involved. Alas, today, no romance but time hasn’t lost its ability to confuse and thrill. It is now five days I have been at the Keene Farm and I feel as if it were only two and I find the rhythms of each place I go different and interesting and singular.
The day is mostly drear and yet I am happy here, with my very strong coffee and my laptop and my thoughts.
Letter from the Vineyard 
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