Chasing the Wind

After all my adventures and misadventures, I had still never been able to say: All my stuff is in storage and I am living in a state park. This month, that changed.

In the Kingkiller Chronicle series by Patrick Rothfuss, students of magic sometimes take a gap year of sorts, to go out and learn to call the elements by their hidden names. Before they can name the wind, they go chasing the wind.

That’s what I’m doing while I relocate to South Jersey. I’m chasing … something. My next rental for sure. I’m also trying to get my bearings and learn a new place.

Forest Road — too on the nose?

For all that it’s worth, I love Parvin State Park. I love waking up at 5:30 a.m. to bird calls. I love being soothed to sleep by the rain. I fell into a feverish love of Summer by Edith Wharton while lounging by the lake. I swam laps in the lake to get my heart racing.

Every leaf and bud and blade seemed to contribute its exhalation to the prevading sweetness in which the pungency of pine-sap prevailed over the spice of thyme and the subtle perfume of fern, and all were merged in a moist earth-smell that was like the breath of some large sun-warmed animal.

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