Home. A sigh of relief, driving up Long Harbour road. A second home, a safe place.

I was overwhelmed with work and Chris and this letter from Boston. Everything pulling me in opposite directions all at once - how many directions can you stretch before you snap back on yourself, yelp in pain?

I walked, trembling, up the drive to the wildlife center. Every square inch of that property thick with memories and emotions. Smells so unique. Smells so closely tied to emotions. Fish and seal and seagull and crow. Machinery and pumps, the wooden enclosures, dust and trodden dirt.

Climbing up my favourite mountains. Swimming in the ocean and then in the lake, back to back, how much can I immerse myself in two short (long) days? Picking shells and sand dollars on the beach.

Sorting through Gunshot's bones. Flies buzzing. Bones crumbing. Skull smaller than I thought it'd be.

I came back to the city. Went straight to a party up on the misty top of SFU. Faces of home-home. Hands that want to hold mine. I'm glad you're back.

I'm glad too.