North Haven, Maine. Recovering from a blast of a book tour. Flight back across desert much less eventful than the way across. WIndy out in Kingman, windy in Gallup at the reservation when I stopped to gas up, windy in Santa Fe where I stopped for the night. Then a perfect, clear, green morning back up the San Luis valley, brushing the Sangre de Cristos on the through La Veta Pass. Now fog, ospreys, buoy clang, gull cry. More fog. Mom’s husband Pete–he basically grew up here on the island, his grandfather built the farmhouse. He comes alive here. I love it, too. Rock, dark woods, a field like mown gift, the cold sea. Lots of reading. Kim and I take the sea kayak out in the late afternoon. This morning, early, little niece Cammy and I flip through the bird book, both agree that a wood duck with his brightly colored head is just the fanciest thing.