21 November 2016
it is paradise to return to your own home and to your own bed.
we woke in the inky shadows of four o'clock, bright eyed and ready to begin our day. husband bounded out of bed, said pumpkin pancakes were just the thing. i put the kettle on, we feasted by candlelight as the city slept on, and that was our first morning home from our honeymoon.
i am spending monday doing things i have missed while traveling: stocking our cupboards, running our errands, catching up on work and emails. i've faced the news -- god, the news -- we've missed (avoided). i've got a meatloaf and brussels with cider vinegar in the oven. i've checked in with family and friends. i've sorted the mail. i've given the treehouse a good scrub -- after all, come friday, a tiny tree will be moving in with us. i've given into spinning sufjan's "holy, holy, holy" again and again, a song that sounds, to me, something of a prayer.
perhaps later i'll walk down to see rita about an afternoon coffee, maybe turn my attention to my journal. our photographs, too. there are many hundreds!
in the meantime, there is this: a scene from our honeymoon by the sea and numbers to tell stories until the words themselves find me --
545 miles, nine cities, one small, zippy car, two ferries, fourteen days, one playlist, three paperbacks, one podcast, one pound of clementines, and one toffee milka bar, five packs of instax film, one husband, one wife, one good start to -- continuation of -- one good life.