I am back from my travels and readjusting to the cold. That is taking a bit longer than the generally happy readjustment to being home. As much as I love going places, both familiar and exotic, coming home is always a treat, even when it means readjusting to cold weather.
I had hoped that I would be suitably rested this morning to write something about the Dali exhibit I saw in Dallas, but instead of sitting and sipping espresso and writing, I have had Moisés lying across my arms and pressing himself against me, happy that I am home. I can manage enough motion in one hand to sip my coffee, but generally welcome-home cuddles are more important than writing this morning, which is, I suppose, exactly as it should be.
I've learned some things on this trip. I was stressed when I left and more relaxed upon my return, and this has led to some insights on travel both by plane and by car, as well as the differing requirements of solo travel versus companionable travel. But I suspect these insights are constantly shifting, just as our lives, and our reactions to the world in which we live, are constantly shifting.
This morning I am feeling like a tiny pinprick in the world, and it is a contented place to be, floating along, allowing the world to be what it will be, a moment of repose before venturing into the world beyond my door.
