I leave tomorrow.

I don't know what to expect, and so I have nothing to say. Perhaps when I return.

Now, more than ever before, I feel that this, here, is my home. A real home, to grow in, not stifle in. Which is why I will leave before I come back. But I love to settle; I know what I want, and it does not trap me. It beckons me. I have just washed the windows and made granola and now I have to go.

I miss Tim already.