Eight months ago—on the road with the wind in my hair,
seeing new places, meeting new people, making new memories, building a new life—everything
fell perfectly into place. The first few months were exciting with
possibilities and plans. Imagine my dismay when in the fourth month, I found
Donna lurking about, waiting patiently in the shadows. In my mountain
retirement where I was to finish that novel and finally compile that poetry
manuscript, there she was, distracting as ever, eating brownies and watching
westerns.
There were reasons, she said. The less expensive location
proved expensive to establish. The serene mountain was in the middle of the
North Georgia ‘hood’, which shouldn’t be a problem for a metro Chicago girl, however mountain hoods are quite a different scene, as my dear Donna was quick to point
out. The mountain wilderness has its own set of rules.
The like-minded and supportive people I’d originally met
were 15-20 miles away, and those close whom I chose to trust were untrustworthy. Winters' early gray months saw
panic attacks, and doubts. As usually happens, time moves along and with that passage
the realization that things are never, ever the way they seem. Those who
betrayed have severe issues of their own. The ‘hood,’ as is often the case, is
home to some good people. As the dreariness lifted, daylight lengthened, and
the Donnas have conspired again to live the dream. 
I’ve made bagels, gorgeous, dense loaves of white bread, a delicious loaf of herbed artisan bread, and just yesterday, two golden loaves of honey oat bread. Three quarts of applesauce, and three pints of apple jelly from the peelings and cores. Since I made the decision to stay at this location for a year to get all finances balanced, I began to dig the herb garden, and ordered seed catalogs. The daylilies and tulips are popping, and my Mello dog takes me on exhilarating daily mountain walks where we’ve met even more good people in the hood.
And, I write!
Confidential
Interview
Almost an illusion,
those tiny blue flutters
in the brown grass.
After the lift of morning fog
amber criss-crosses the earth
to dry the nights
weeping.
Cats crouch and shimmy behind the window,
yet visions of the glorious hunt
soon
blur,
ransacked by the
reality
of domestication.
So begins the day’s confidential interview with its
customers.
