The word “home” has been on my mind.
My cell phone has no service where we stay up in Maine. I am unlocated. I can’t record my walks.
We had a sense of dislocation where we stayed, although we are comfortable there. Part of being at home was missing. I’m not sure what this is. We didn’t spread out our belongings.
On the other hand, leaving in the dark of early morning felt like leaving home. Maybe I had made a home in the landscape by walking.
Being at home I notice my negativity toward it. With a sense of humility, I walked in the neighborhood. The humility came from knowing all the people who were at home in the neighborhood. I am one of them.
I think I have felt all my life that where I live is just temporary. Not a home. Is it a deficit in the homemaking instinct? Or my imagination?
At home on the cushion? In the studio? Online? In the office? Where do I feel the strongest sensation of being at home? In the woods? (but not at night)
Leaving Wednesday for Florida. Wednesday to Tuesday. Away from home.