In a comment to my previous entry here Reenie said, "I know it's "just" home to you, but when you write about it and your property, it always sounds wonderfully remote and mystical."

I hope I'm not giving an erroneous impression.

I do live in a country setting now, particularly as compared to the cities of Brooklyn and Rochester where I've spent most of my adult life. For example, these days I can't walk to the end of the block Sunday morning to buy a bagel and the New York Times. I'd have to drive. A long distance. Provided I could even find a decent bagel in the vicinity. I might have to drive all the way back to Brooklyn.

Still, I'm sure people who live further out in the sticks, even in the county up the road, would consider me a virtual suburbanite. The state of my mind is probably more exotic than the reality of the area, although the mountains are beautiful.

A good deal of my writing over the years has been dedicated to trying to say something fascinating about my tedious routines and dull surroundings. It is not, I think, an entirely dishonest undertaking.

There is magic beneath the mundane. Life is a great mystery. So when, as writers, we search for the right words we probably find a bit of truth along with them.

Now If I could only find a decent bagel.