While my blog was down last week, I was in the Pacific Northwest, staying in a cabin in the woods near Bellingham, Washington, where we once lived for six years. No phone, email, or TV. Just a nice cabin, a wood-burning stove, a pile of books, and silence. It was great.

Autumn in the Northwest is magical. The leaves are turning, the air is crisp, and the shadows are long at just the right time of day. On one late afternoon I was driving into town. The landscape had a dusky glow. Golden leaved hardwoods were interspersed with deep green fir and cedars. The sky was blue and orange and on the way to purple. As I drove along the road that hugged the edge of the woods, it seemed entirely possible that at any moment a band of elves would appear.

I love the Northwest. I’d live there again in a heartbeat, but Heather has told me repeatedly that it is not gonna happen. I know she means it. I guess a trip up that way every fall will have to do.