The little clock up there says 8:54 and I've been up for about three hours. I'm suddenly aware this morning that I'm not acclimated. Or hardened (as Bathsheba calls it)--I'm decked out in long sleeves and warm socks and wishing I'd brought my sweatshirt downstairs. Bathsheba is hardened now, wearing light short sleeved shifts and sandles in the chill. I'm from the subtropics, below sea-level, humid, and hot. Up here breathing is starting to become work and my skin is beginning to show cracks against the dry mountain air. But my, it's beautiful.

This house is super neat, my friends. Lots of crazy angles and windows and passive solar energy (which I didn't know about but now I do and I want it to have it now--though I suspect the angles of the land in my state are not quite right). I've been sitting on the back deck looking down into the small town, full of hippies and libertarians. I've never seen anything like it.

Basho got me out of bed this morning. No, he's not here. But I jumped up thinking I'd overslept and that he needed to go out so bad that he'd left me alone in the bed. I still can't shake it, that longing longing when I realized where I was and where he was too.

Frances and Jeff, too. I miss them. I miss hearing about what they see in the world. They pay attention. They are my friends who exand the visible horizon.

I just feel a bit caught off guard by everything in the world this morning. Like, wait. Wait. How did I get here? And how far am I from home? This, my friends, is the problem with plane travel. My heart has yet to arrive. My heart travels, at best, at bicycle speed.

I am kept company this morning by the always charming Trotsky. He may be the most charming cat in existance. Yesterday on the deck he got up on his hind legs and reached high and knocked the wind chimes.

Florida, where I was yesterday, right? Florida was so humid and warm (but not hot) I could not breathe. The air was soup. I saw Shawn and Dan and moms and pops. Basho is there now and my mom says he does nothing but sit on the couch staring out the window waiting for me.

Oh, I think maybe somebody's getting up. I have not even said half the things. I've not said anything about Bathsheba or Peter or Zoe or the strange birds who wing themselves around in the evergreens. I must find what they are, they are so lovely. And I've not talked about what I've learned about wolves and planes and about my debriefing on Saturday morning with Jeff and Frances on the porch (oh I miss them) or about styledaddy taking pictures of me and Frances in her bedroom on Friday night. He's so funny and we're so camera shy. He said move around! He said go like this! Oh and here's the grand lady of the house, grand woman of letters herself, my one and only Bathsheba. Good day compadres. I'm in Colorado.