it's 5.50am. but it's not. it's 9.50pm and i'm tired. tired not just because i'm 8 hours from home, but tired because i've been tired for months.
i should write. i should tell you about the sunset tonight. how it was orange/gold and the hills were like slate against the sky. etched into a flat sky. colourless only in it's heat and unwavering beauty. those hills had an outline of gold. as if the sun had leaned her arm out and traced them in yearning.
really, you should hear about the coolness of the morning and how i hear the birds long before the sky lights and when sleep should have her grasp still deep into me. but she doesn't.
last night i woke to the sound of coyotes. the yips and cries would raise the hairs on the back of your neck and arms. but i rolled over and slept. it was almost like 'migration'.
i should write. so much is going through my head. yet all i can think about are the mountains, and the wind, and that i want to be home.
in less than three weeks i'm getting married. yet all i can think about is you in our house, and being home.
home with you.
i should write.