All Of Me Wants All Of You

I haven't blogged for a while, a longer while than I expected. Since coming back from California nine days ago, I've been really cherishing my self-imposed exile from too much internet, instead I've been reading, gardening, writing and, well, going to way too many parties.  

Usually when I'm traveling, there comes the point when I just want to go home, like, right now. I get exhausted by the constant stimulation, by people, no matter how lovely, by new sights, new ideas swirling past unfinished and un-recorded, all the hubbub, change, and chance that is travel. Not this trip though. Up until the moment I boarded that bus at the Placerville depot, I was still totally ready to keep going, to stay another day, to find the next destination. As the sun rose to the now familiar sight of Mt. Shasta, the train's last hours of California, I still thought about reversing course. 

All the way, maybe, until I got home.  HOME. No place like it in the world. Where your husband, cats, your suddenly wild garden, your book piles, and extensive dress hoards are. Where everybody asks you how your travels were (or where you've been) at the grocery store. Where people give you spontaneous hugs, and make fun of your California tan. Where you get to go to housewarmings, bonfires, three-year-old's birthday parties, and high school graduations all in a week. 

Where the water is salty, and cold as hell, and where you can dance around the Maypole on the seventh of June, and talk all night, and wake up smelling like smoke, salmon, and tequila. 

The first days where cool, and rainy, smelling of new leaves and roses, and wood-fire. They were perfect. They were good. The spell of the familiar came over me the moment I set foot back on the Island. "This is it." Everything around me whispered softly, "My piece of the Earth. The one I love." It's always like that. As the car climbs up the first hill from the ferry, we breath out a big sigh of relief. The ferry pulls away, the island encloses us like an embrace. We roll down our windows, the air smells sweeter here. 

These days have been fruitful and busy, so much so that I've barely even digested all the wonderful things that happened in the past month. When I get there, I promise I'll share some of my adventures.

It was spring when I left, and now it's summer. It's been a wild, crazy month, and I have a feeling it's going to be more of the same. I've been out there, in the world of new thoughts and different ideas, and now it's time to dig in, and cultivate them.  

If you see a light on in the woods, on these long summer nights, it might be mine...