I am staying at a friend’s cottage in the country.  It is a two hour drive north of Montreal.  The cottage and the cottages of many of her relatives stands on the shore of a long narrow lake.  I can see launches gliding by on the shimmering water.  The sky which was hung with bright cloud banners just before dark is paler than the low tree line.  As I said goodnight to my friend’s mum I thought I heard something.  I stepped out onto the warm wooden veranda and, yes, it was the cry of a loon.  Higher than I remembered it, calling a high longing sequence of notes.  The place smells of pine needles and the cottage has that sort of unfinished, yet cosy look and smell. As soon as you open the door you see a big bed with a hand made cover and a bookcase of interesting things to read.  There is no cel phone service in this area and no fixed line in my cabin so that means the internet is my link to the outside world.  I am very sleepy and I must stop now.  There is not a sound.  I will sleep like a baby tonight and I wish you pleasant and restful sleep too.