Finding peace is work.  It takes effort–every single day–to keep pushing back the fear and worry that refuse to loose their grip on me since my solo mid-century reboot last August.  And then there are beautiful moments of amnesty. Vermont has been good to me mainly; for the time being I come home to 180 unspoiled acres because of the magnanimity of a colleague.  My situation here is impermanent, like so much in my life right now, but I relish it.  Yesterday Handsome Chef Boyfriend and Clarence-the-Canine and I struck out along a section of miles of trails on the property in search of the large beaver pond which until now we had found only on a map.  We arrived there after a short hike (turns out it is closer to the house than we imagined) although it was difficult to come to its edge because of swamp surrounding it.  Evidence of beaver activity and dam-building was everywhere, maybe not fresh.  Also human activity both recent and ancient.  We marveled at a wall that was probably built a century-and-a-half ago, its stones trucked in (how? and how far?) and stacked surprisingly high, winding serpentine fashion up a precipitous hillside.  Whose wall and why it was built remain a mystery. Nearby we also found evidence of an ancient foundation, very small:  maybe an outbuilding, maybe a hunting cabin.  Clarence was granted some time off-leash as we made our way back to the house, discovering an abundance of large sticks everywhere, and at one point making his best effort to yank a root out of the ground, silly boy.  I could only catch a joyous blur in my lens; I will take that joyous blur, and a fleeting November Saturday in Vermont with my Handsome Chef Boyfriend, and the cheap, awful coffee in my hand as I write this, as my own.