It’s hard for me to believe that I’ve been here almost a full month. But it’s the truth. When I arrived, it was warm and humid. The crickets and 17-year cicadas were singing their songs, and the air smelled of warmth and sunlight. Now, the equinox has passed, it is chilly–cold even–at night, and the days feel crisp and cool. The Dexter Cider Mill is in full swing, and the farm markets all along the drive to my parent’s house are selling pumpkins, apples and hayrides.
It’s time to say goodbye. I need to get back on the road, and return to Los Angeles, to see what’s next. Saying goodbye is hard. It’s been difficult for me to share the things I’ve experienced here. I haven’t posted about a short trip to Chicago that I took two weekends ago, to meet A. I haven’t posted about seeing my family and friends; about demolishing my mother’s greenhouse; about regressing to childlike silliness with the neighbor girls. It is hard for me to write about these things; to express the deep, comforting smells and sounds of Michigan. To share this place… how can I share this place? How can I share what is unfolding–but not yet fully formed in my heart, my soul? I’ve been feeling so raw, it felt like there were no words to truly describe this place. What if I offered you the deeply pungent scent of walking through a wetland? Or the sound of birds singing in the trees as wind blows gently amongst the foliage? How can I share with you the nostalgia brought on by finding old photos in my parent’s basement? The comfort brought on by sitting in my mother’s study, which was once my childhood bedroom? How can I share my MICHIGAN with you? How can I go? And yet–it is time. Time to grow up. Time to go from one home to another. Tomorrow, I will leave. Not forever. But for a while. It’s been lovely to be here while I could.