Last week there was a fancy dress tea party in the woods at a librarian’s farm. We played croquet. There were pastries and cucumber sandwiches. Good company.

Met the cats, goats, turkey boy, chickens, alpacas, carnivorous plants. Also bones, everywhere.

The homestead offered a hammock in the woods when I was tired. When everyone else was leaving I said the goodbyes and then went back to the clearing before leaving. Just to be still, to be alone for a while. It’s a long drive.

They told me to come out to the farm whenever I needed, crash in the woods for a few days. Not even to visit, just to be in the woods.

Which is why I am currently huddled in a tent in the middle of a thunderstorm. Alone. Perfectly content. I appreciate rain-on-tent sounds and cricket noises.

Fennel has been an excellent host while everyone else is away. There if I need anything. I’ve been mostly keeping to myself.

I have needed to escape to the woods for a long time. I hadn’t realized how badly. Being surrounded by trees and mushrooms and insects and dirt and bones and sometimes campfire smoke is fucking potent medicine.

I am still grieving the loss of the tree at home. This is happening on a physiological level that I only have a little experience with. There’s a physical ache in my chest whenever I think about it.

Nights are long. Emotions bubble and froth the way they usually do, except – louder, clearer, cleaner in the aftermath.

During the day, I have the time and attention span to get some writing done. Not the short story, the paper I’ve been putting off all summer. It flows off the keys and onto the page like it’s been waiting patiently this whole time. I needed that.

There is bread, cheese, peanut butter, honey, and bananas. I leave mugs of water in the sun until the water is warm and then add teabags. I am a genius.

Must try to sleep. Goodnight.