I started a new writing journal and stitched together a new sketchbook.
I intended to send a postcard from the village of Mendocino where I was stationed for the first week of August, but the days drifted by with the fog. I walked on the headlands morning, noon, and night. Breathed in lungfuls of sea air. Some nights winds blew up and cleared the skies. I craned my neck up to see into the deepest part of the Milky Way. One night I saw a giant bird flying through a field of grass. One morning, a white mottled seal looking up at me and turning over in the water. By the shallow shore I saw the tentacle of an octopus. Or maybe it was a rope of kelp. I can’t remember what book I was reading, it seems like so long ago. Something good.
Now I am home. I’ve been categorizing, labeling, decluttering. Mountains of things I don’t need. It’s amazing when one realizes that we wear the same clothes, wash the same dishes, eat the same food, use the same pots and pans over and over. The same exact few items are put into use repeatedly. Why do I need 20 plates, when I only use the same 3-4 over and over?
It has been like an oven outside so I take shelter in the cool confines of Moss Cottage. Near the windows! School starts tomorrow. I’ve been getting ready. The meetings start tomorrow and the children tune in on Thursday. My days of wandering are coming to an end. For now.
I told myself I would keep this short and I will. Just a few photos and a few words, and a promise to return soon. To sit down here and tap out the words on the screen that will make their way across the digital night and into your device. Smoke signals from Los Angeles. To say, I am here.