Your correspondent now hails from Marlboro, VT, on the last leg of his whirlwind tour of New England and surrounds. Academicall, the college seems in good standing, but I'll wait until my 3:30 class (Intro to Hinduism and Buddhism) to give the final word there. The people are firendly, at least those I've talked to. Because the school is so small, everybody knows everybody else on a first-name basis, and my being a stranger in such a secluded place seems to invite people to overlook me either out of wariness ("What's he doing here?") or awkwardness ("I don't remember his name, so I'll just keep walking.") The campus is stunning, but at a cost: the nearest metropolitan area is a good two hours away, and what passes for the nearest town's (which itself is a good half-hour away) bus stop is a trailer. Still, it makes for good prose:

The sun's painfully bright aura is the only refuge against Autumn's chill and the harsh mountain wind. But it seems to be enough, as young women and men congregate in the fields, eating and laughing, chatting and lying about on the grass. The setting is aesthetically ideal: rolling mountains, covered in warm greens, vibrant yellows, and crisp reds as the leaves slowly turn. The grass still fights valiantly against the change of season, but is starting to fade in the face of the inescapable.

Anyhow, tomorrow I start the long journey home. Until then!

Tunes: "Hope," R.E.M.; "Everything To Me," Rock Kills Kid; "What I Want," Autopilot Off.