I don’t ever really return from these journeys, you know. There is new birdsong in my lived experience. I have new habits, new hopes. It is hard to put down my roots again, even though the flower seeds I tossed before I left have grown. Even though it’s nice to be home.

A part of me is still in the back of the meditation room, in view of the walled garden I helped tend. Or out in the forest. Or under the flags of peace, compassion, strength, and wisdom doing that final twirl before I left for the rest of my life (however that now unfurls). Quietly contemplating.