Several times during the year, we head up north to a friend’s house in Maine, in the middle of nowhere. It’s a place where you can sit and relax, make a fire and do absolutely nothing for however long you’re there.

It’s also a nice place to write. It’s right on a river so you can hear the water rushing by all the time. The constant whoosh sound helps clear the mind.

I wish we could travel to more exotic locations but Maine is as far as we can get these days. And I’m stretching to even categorize Maine as exotic. More like backwoods mystique.

There is a certain charm of hanging out in the woods though. Makes you feel like an explorer from long ago, building a fire, cooking food, sitting with friends and talking under a starry sky. It’s more fun in the summer, but a fire in the winter is still nice.

I hope to be fireside soon, tonight, relaxing after a long week. Wish everyone I knew could be there too. Guess I’ll just have to keep their spirits in my thoughts as I gaze into the flames, and hope wherever they are is as inviting.