My back yard

My father, sawing firewood.

I suppose there is a childhood root for my feelings of isolation. This was the view from my backyard, in my teen years. It looked pretty much the same in all directions. The nearest house was about 1/3 of a mile away. It was farmland, all the way around. This made it hard to sneak out, except after dark. I had to walk for at least a mile until I was out of sight. The trees that are visible in the distance are where I used to meet my drug connections. Lou Reed’s “Waiting for My Man” had great resonance with me.