The long and endlessly faskinatin' voyage approaches its southern terminus; I have been in Nawth Carolina, the GRand Northern State, for a number of days now (don't ask which number as I have lost count in my meandering mind). I stayed a day with Bill and Rita in Maryland and then drove seven long hours to arrive at Sir Beaubear's most amazing estate tucked back in the wooded farmlands of Wingate, North Carolina, a short distance from the border with South Carolina. My stay with Bobert and Peavine was indescribably delicious. We hoisted and hauled thirty bales of hay from the neighbor's horse farm and stacked them in Bobert's barn. We went to the amazing reborn city of Charlotte and dined on pulled pork and beef brisket. We swapped songs in Bobert's secret lair, where all the mind-blowing stories are born, and dug out mud from the creek where fallen trees had choked the flow. We talked to Famous and Ghost (horses) and discussed affairs with a black cat named Kendall. Bobert and Peavine demonstrated their fencing techniques, a masterful demonstration of marital harmony and counter-point refined to a scintillating edge. We laughed a great deal. Peavine sang for us, and showed me her array of plantings, a subject of which she is an Ascended Master. With great regret, I left their sweet plantation.

I have come now, after several hours of driving, back to Hillsboro, the sweet spot of North Carolina, where I have settled down at Dani's lovely cottage in the trees, and peace reigneth upon the land. Herself is off to work, and a light rain has ended the most recent drought here, and the trees are wet and green, the spider webs sparkle like jewels, and all is well with the world. Aside from an occasional burst of public radio I have been exposed to almost no news or chatter from the media for some time, and I am finding it is quite salubrious to my mental state.

In two weeks, the World-Famous Getaway!! The Grand Reunion of Singing Souls from All Over Earth!

You-all come, y'hear? Gosh-all Hemlock, yes!