There’s a small cabin in the pines by a secluded lake in north Ontario. I had rented it for two weeks every summer for the last twelve years. The Belvedere it is called. When its owner passed, his wife wanted me to have it, so we made a deal and it is mine now. Its shingles are puckered and mossy, and the mortar between the cut logs is crumbling away. I’ll fix it though, because one day I hope to live in it.

I have furnished it with esoterica from my cluttered mind. Mementos from the movies, and music that I adore. A stuffed raccoon with a ray gun and ammo vest. A Palantir, its globe of glass ensconced in carved briarwood. The mother ship from Close Encounters. Cellophane flowers. An onion made of glass. A parking meter, and a guitar with a face painted on it (crying). Many more…