What's Next?

Everyone has future fantasies, don't they? I'm not the only that has "pictures" in my head of where I want to be in the next few years and what I want to be doing? Geesh, at least I hope I'm not the only one.

So now I have to change those pictures . . . a little. The "what" is still the same: I want to be writing, maybe even supporting myself writing. Or, at least, supported by my lottery winnings and writing anyway. I'm still pragmatic. It's the "where" that's now in question.

I know I must be somewhere "in the country." I feel the pull of the woods, mountains, meadows. It's not just a fantasy - it's a need. I'm really not kidding about that cottage in the woods. Heather calls me "Snow White, the later years." She is so right.

I drove down the turnpike from I-80 to Allentown, dreaming of a "little place" in the Poconos - maybe that's not so unattainable. I shall keep the picture of the cottage in the woods - not too far from civilization: I do like a movie and a dinner out every so often. But far enough away from neighbors, that I can go out under the full moon and draw Her to me.

I had hoped to take a few days off to stay at Camp Taylor near the Lakota Wolf Preserve. As a 57 year old woman on a diuretic, I can't stay in a cabin with no amenities. I wouldn't want to walk outside to the latrine in the middle of the night. But the camp also has parked RVs - with real indoor flush toilets. I could stay in one of those, walk through the woods, read, write and listen to the wolves at night. At least that was my plan, until life intruded - or rather, work intruded. A presurvey and a meeting next week. Meetings the week after. The woods and the wolves will have to wait . . .but I don't know if I can.