Passage West

Tonight before bed as I walked Hopper around the block and past our old apartment with a wistfulness reserved for late nights and long stories, I felt the air, cool like ice water on my cheeks, the sky so black above, the stars sparkling and I wondered how this native daughter could have ever left her terra firma. Usually around now I feel depressed as summer ends and the awful holidays loom only to give way to winter and more winter...but somehow, and maybe it's having a child and the excitement and wonder that unfolds every day, or maybe it's being home...but I'm loving every second. Like Hopper, I didn't want to come in to bed. But I felt silly (he didn't) wandering and spying on the remnants of my old life.

We hung most of our artwork tonight and set up more of the apartment. Finally, we're starting to carve out a home. The walls feel charged with art and the place seems to pulsate with our things, some of which have been packed away for almost two years now. Tomorrow our friends from LA, Andrea and Harlan are coming from Boston. We can't wait to see them on footing so much more stable then when we left them in LA last April.

This morning I finished a chapter which was about our road trip west--in my writing Ellison was so close I could almost touch her, except...when I looked up from the computer she was nowhere to be found.

Good night. Sleep tight. Open your windows, the air is so fresh and full of dreams.

Caitlin.