I dreamed that it was still summertime, and I am at the cabin that is nestled in the great north woods. I hear rain falling loudly on the sleeping porch’s bare wooden roof at dawn’s early light. It first wakes me, but then lulls me back to sleep with its regular staccato rhythm. Rap-tap-tapping me unconscious once again. Later, I sit up in bed. I can see that Canada has stolen the island, again. Such murky international political situations are best left for a later time. At that hour, even in the dim predawn light, a hummingbird is already having its breakfast at the feeder. Almost silently, a deer passes by the cabin, pauses to look up at me, as I remain sitting in bed, sees no threat, and then continues walking down to the beach. Laying back down, squirrels can be heard chittering and chattering at each other all around the cabin, but thankfully not inside of it. I am again brought to full wakefulness by the roar of the coffee grinder. Then allowed to drift back towards sleep with the sound of a percolating coffeemaker. In addition to coffee, I can now also smell wood burning warmly in the kitchen’s stove. Yet, it is so warm in bed. Reluctantly rising, finally, I get up. I grab my phone and check to see if the world has ended. After using the toilet, I do my ablutions, pour a cup of fresh coffee, and find Anne quietly reading in the corner.