Going home

You make it so you’ve never been so excited to go home. So you’re sitting on the curb, three times over ready.  You’ve never been so ready to go anyplace before; now you’re sitting next to your strategically packed bags hoping it doesn’t take too much work to get it all in the car. You’re already opening the gate to the house, anxious to see who’s out on the porch. 5 hours to Los Angeles never seemed like such a long time.  I weigh the mass of my adventures, encounters, new friends and roads; I fan them out like dominos on the kitchen table, a series of faces, avenues, bars and bad diners. They unfold like a meticulous patchwork quilt, varied shapes and colors and textures sewn together and spanning from coast to coast, dotted with cycle trails and lakes, coffee mornings and Bourbon afternoons, with blackberries and redwoods, harbor views and roads that run alongside rivers.

Then, gently folding up my patchwork treasure,  I carefully place it onto its own special shelf, marked “Joy and Discovery; The Summer of Waking Life ” and turn my mind to the rustling, settling fall foliage, to harvest the fruits that have grown in my spirit. Ripe with anticipation, bursting with the juices of inspiration, I can already taste the simmering sauces of the city of angels reaching north to draw me in. I’m on my way.


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