My mother was born in Rockfall, a part of Middlefield, CT. Her sister and brother still live on the property, which is right around the corner from the Boondockers Welcome host with whom I am staying. My aunt, her dog and I spent part of the day together. As she drove, I soaked in as much of this area I grew up around as I could, to take its essence with me. There was the field we’d park in for the Durham Fair, brooks, my mother’s headstone, the tiny post office, the apple orchard store. Later, my cousin and I explored The Old North Burial Ground across the street from where my bus is parked. On the two hills separated by a deep dip, the ground was coming to life around the crumbling stones of those who lost their lives hundreds of years ago. There was a stillness that quietness. Tonight as I write this, the only illumination is my computer screen, altar candles and the almost-full moon. I can’t see another light, except for a couple of stars. There is peace in that soft, silent light.