I’m writing from a cottage in Indiana as the wind whips whitecaps in the lake and sends the wind chimes into overdrive.

I’ve come here for years but never in the winter, never when the water opened up before me on three sides, never with a sky so leaden and gray. 

It’s a cozy place to hang out for a couple of days. And I’ve figured out how to create a “personal hotspot” to post these words.

Here, in a “frame,” is Lake Monroe, snapped from inside, the only place to be today.