When we start to feel that Two Dot is remote and quiet, it is a good time to graduate further from the highway. On an afternoon at the Vestal place we tramp around the buildings flushing the owls from their perches in the sheep shed, we climb the hill for a view of where we’ve just come from, and finally we submit to the solitary sounds of wind and tin roofs coming loose, of birds and bellowing bulls. Each of us eases into being alone, separating into our own pastimes: John with his accordion, Craig with his pencils, and me with my drawing brushes and this pen.
