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The upstate is its own kind of quiet, a heavy, still quiet where nothing has moved fast since ever. I drive the Taconic up, all rolling hills and lush greens and I smile despite myself: summer. Sit in the sunniest room, trying desperately to care about deliverables, but the Sun beams across the river, but the twilight twinkles beyond the woods, how could we possibly care about anything but four leaf clovers and walking barefoot in the grass. 

For years we have been coming here. I cannot calculate that magnitude. 

Escape is just as much how we live our lives.