serial goodbyes.

12 April 2012 § Leave a comment

Tomorrow I depart home.

From home, or for home, I’m not sure. But I will no longer be here, and off on yet another adventure (they seem neverending), to learn more, to experience more, to face more. I am young, and I want More.

I want to sit in a cafĂ© on my 84th birthday with my best friend, with whom I will have reached over a gulf of 60 years to connect, and smile as the lovely restaurant owner kisses my cheek in greeting, a prelude to breakfast. I want to have as many stories as Ed has shared with me, and more that don’t need sharing so much as cherishing.

We’re supposed to know when we’ve found home. Whether Boquete is mine, or it helps me appreciate others more, I’m grateful for it. Today is my last day here, and I’ve become rusty at goodbyes.

My great Central American trip, which started with a lonely note in an old notebook: “A year from now, be somewhere else. Signed, October 2010”, ends a few days from now, will melt into my chapters of autumnstrewn summers, as candle wax cascades perfect circles onto wobbly writing desks.

My compass has nearly always pointed north, but smiles in defiance.
I climb intrepid mountain roads, to sweat out my distortions.

Here we go. Again.

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