A month comes to a close, a journey with it. I tie up loose ends, bringing in the harvest from the yard and cutting down the flowers. Winter is coming. Wipe down the counters, trace the days across the crumbs they left behind. I take one last run on the mountainside, make it longer than before, feel how the altitude has arranged itself within my lungs, feel how my love for it has brought familiarity back into my steps. I'm sorry I left you, I didn't mean to hurt you when I meant to hurt myself. I feel healed.
Sometimes we go into the desert not knowing what we are looking for, and sometimes we are given the answers despite forgetting to ask. I return to the little shoebox on Avenue B with a calm in my veins, an ache in my muscles, a lightness on my brow that has not been there since the before times.
We are not back in the before times, You cannot step in the same river twice, at some point you let go of the house that burned to the ground. We have to build our castles out of the diamonds we unearth in the ashes.
I sat on the deck, watching the last sun set behind the mountains. The last sun of infinite, for it does not set for me alone. This little vessel of my body is broken, and scarred, and weary, but it has carried me all the way here. What gratitude would it be to leave it behind? We are enough.
Take your vessel, your diamonds, your lessons learned. Go home. Start again.
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