Symptoms of Cabin Fever or... Maybe It's Just November

The sun begins to brighten the edges of my cabin windows around 7:30 in the morning. By 9:30 it actually rises over the eastern mountain ridges. And by 2:30 it disappears behind the mountains to the west. Once the daylight fades away, the wintry winds come whistling down into the canyon and back I go into the cabin. Even for a certified introvert like myself this is a little too much of a good thing. Of course, if I enjoyed the ambiance of tavern life: triple screen TV, "vintage" music from the 1980's, and beer inspired conversation that is neither, I could always choose from one of the dozen or so booze halls that enliven the main street of Ouray after dark. But, since Kukla went on the wagon, the better choice is just to stay here in the cabin and avoid both her temperance lectures and those dens of noisy propinquity - for both her sake and mine.

That said, I actually have met a few kindred spirits here. Even a bear. But the bear was crossing the street to try its luck in one of the alley dumpsters, so had no time for uncertain socializing, and my kindred spirits had already flown to follow the western zephyrs to their source. Seems I do better with long distance correspondence anyway. I've heard it is the same with bears.

Snow is falling tonight. About six inches cover the picnic table on the hill outside my door. It should be "a sight to behold" in the morning - all that dazzling whiteness under a cerulean sky. Time to unpack my 1937 Kodak Brownie.

Time also to start re-packing my old suitcases (also circa 1937) and get ready to hop in my time machine with Kukla T. Dog. After a brief excursion to Elsewhere in 1897, we will head south to meet up with Ardythe in 21st century Santa Fe. And from there...? Well, as the Zen master said, "When you are on a journey, and the end keeps getting further and further away, then you realize that the real end is the journey". 

Irgendwo, Irgendwie, Irgendwann...

(So goes the song.)