Rendered restless by the light of the full moon through my window I tired of trying to ignore the ache in my hip and gently flipped back the comforter to avoid disturbing my husband. I tiptoed to the living room, cracked open the cast iron wood stove for a surge of warmth, tugged a chair to the television and turned it on. A sermon was a welcome surprise at 3:00 a.m. yet I confess to not remembering its topic because an advertisement for Raven’s Bread Ministries grafted my attention. Raven’s Bread purported to provide support and fellowship for people living a solitary, reflective life. My husband and I live such lives and devote most of our conversation to God, even moreso when we visit remote places, far from the distractions of the populace. This kind of life is welcome and second nature to me. When I was a child growing up in Maine my parents packed me to the beach each summer where I wandered all over Hermit’s Island, “island” being something of a misnomer as it was a peninsula. But the reference to a hermit was accurate and alluring and I traveled barefoot or shod across dirt roads in sun, fog and rain, emerging from narrow paths of juniper that scratched my calves to watch the surf swell and hurl against cliff’s cradling crabs and urchins, oddly comparably in size. Often I talked with God on those walks, just as I do now traversing desert trails with my husband, seeing Him lob a gold ribbon across the twilight sky, or peek from the eliptical hole in a bone, or peer from a huskey nest tucked at the cross bar of an electrical pole, from which the shiny sleek young raven has newly flown.