Journey Home

I went to New Mexico to the desert and all I wanted to do was walk by the blue green Rio Grande. The best thing about the desert is the smell of sage, and the houses made out of the earth. Low, brown houses who say we will all sink back into the earth some day. And Taos Mountain, sacred to the Pueblo Indians. I understand why they don't allow my people (Anglos) to set foot on it, but I wanted to. But after awhile of looking at it I realized I didn't need to walk up it to commune with it. It saw and knew everything about me.

When I came home I fell more in love with Block Island than ever. The peepers woke up from the mud while I was away and the robins are building their nests everywhere I look. And I saw a golden eagle soaring above the Hodge property when I was driving Georgia home the other day. I knew for certain, that right now, this is my place, and was grateful to finally have this knowledge.

This past weekend, while listening to the poet Marie Howe read, I felt my heart swelling, growing in joy instead of in pain. Thank you Marie. Thank you to everybody who has helped me on my journey home. May I return the love you have given me.