The rain is coming down in tropical gouts. I move around my house in the dark, picking up this thing and that thing, moving pieces around. I'm glad it will be the cabin this weekend instead of camping in all this vast wetness. The way woods out here can hold onto water; you understand so much more deeply the fact that these are deciduous rainforests. Last night, hiking out toward the waterfall at Falls Hollow, the woods held onto the darkness that way too, seeping up and around me like a rising tide. In the half-light, the rocks looked like everything but rocks. 

I'm looking forward to seeing the little calfpasture river where it goes up near Daddy's Run, and actually recently read that there was a burial mound on the pastureland across the river. It probably explains the small scalloped bowls of rock that have accumulated on the cabin porch over years of people finding them and picking them up, as well as the blue chert partial arrowhead that was there, but has since disappeared. I'm going to pack a dress to cook in when I'm fixing up venison on the 1920s cast iron stove. Sven and Bean will be happy to see each other, and I've packed them nice big marrow bones because I love those boys so, so much.