Journal Entry: June 27, 7:00 a.m.
Jet black crow in the Stewartia tree, and other morning birds singing. The Olympic range makes a ragged, still-snowy horizon to the west. My surroundings are verdant and nearly luminous. It’s a cool, fresh morning… and I’m home.
It’s easier this time to leave behind dear Italy, for whom I have such a range of feelings. I didn’t invest myself as I did before. Though I wasn’t just a typical two-week traveler, at two months, I was still a “short-timer”. I had warm reunions with the dear folks I had met before, and I met more people that extended themselves to me with new, treasured bonds. I moved about with an open heart, but it was touched by the reserve borne of a known departure.
I’m ready to be home now. To unpack my things and nestle back in, something I didn’t fully do when I returned a year ago after a long year in Italy. I now have a better inkling of what that country is – and isn’t – for me.