Sunday, 27 October 2002 | Office retreat

It didn't take long for the buildings to shrink, to flatten and space themselves apart and sink into the earth, for bright orange trees to stand in their place, for the middle of civilization to be transformed into the middle of nowhere. I hiked a trail at the top of a mountain and saw nothing but contoured hills of flamboyantly dying leaves and white post-rain haze. When canoeing down the Delaware river, Tripti and I drifted away from the others and floated downstream almost silently, nothing on either side of us but hills and crooked trees, surroundings that looked something like the autumnized set of Deliverance.

The Inn itself reminded me of The Overlook, but with a swarm of environmentalists moving through it, and a few local pear-shaped golfers moving around it. As part of the swarm, I went to workshops, listened to speakers, danced, talked, talked too much, played games, and temporarily learned how to line dance from two sixty-year-old cowgirls. The bus ride home today was groggy and quiet.