I fly home today

feeling renewed yet oddly as if I never left.

Something about boarding the plane —

I remember that old, familiar aloneness

and anticipate the fabricated

order of things —

no less so abroad than at home,

I know.

Yet there I am foreign

and expect a measure of alienation.

And there’s no time for longing

when distraction

is the daily itinerary.

There the rapacious child

in me reemerged

elated,

even astonished

at times,

waking greedily at first light

to feel consumed by its purple hues

shrouding a tree-lined street,

the street lamps extinguishing

as golden warmth spread

between branches —

that joy of watching Nature

score victory over Machine.

And so, I go home

hoping not to quickly forget

how a simple moment

can be a gift of pleasure

as curtains close

on this latest adventure.