Cloud Hidden in the Green Mountains

Personal reflections on leaving urban life behind and doing philosophy in the wild.

On the dirt road to our mountain home, Vermont.

The year-long whirlwind which began last summer on the Gulf coast of Florida seems to have finally landed, here, in the Green Mountains of Vermont. The name of this state, Vermont, is a French contraction: ver, meaning “green” in French and mont meaning “mountain.” This is the place that I’ll be calling home for at least the next four seasons (and what a delight that is, to have seasons again).

This green mountain is where my next book, Fragments of an Integral Future, will be completed, and where the Mutations project finds its new home.

Behind the house is a pond with a very large rock which you can comfortably lie down on, or sit and and watch the salamanders and tadpoles and water bugs at play in the quiet drama of their microcosm. Field mice and other small critters will occasionally risk a road crossing to dart from one side of the grassy field to the other. The wildflowers here grow with an utterly Jovian sense of enthusiasm and exuberance. At night, distant owls can be heard hooting and the occasional hooves of deer can be heard stomping.