Dear Savannah, Maybe the best part of traveling is the enjoyment of coming home. Not home to a town or building, but something else. Something other. You seemed to understand. Willingly you offered up photos, souvenirs, and memories.... but you gave them over to be taken away, knowing that we would take them back to some other place. Home.
Back to the shower with the correct water pressure. Back to the clean sheets your wife just put on the bed. Back to the dog hair on your white shirt.
at 10pm the trees are alarming. the cicada vibrations rattle my teeth. crickets keep time and eliminate any possibility of silence. somehow this sound makes me resent air conditioning. i remember trying to sleep on top of sheets inches from a box fan precariously placed on a chair. all three windows open, even the roar of the fan could not drown out the sound rushing down from the oak trees. it was possible to feel miserable and wonderful at the same moment.