Settled. And not yet.

This is the land of abundant backpacks and cyclists. A place I felt immediately at home.

The next book is beginning to whisper in my ear, asking to be heard.

In the meantime, cultural diversions are filling the vacant space.

Tomorrow, I’ll go see the theatercast of Britain’s National Theater presentation of Frankenstein. Saturday, a reception and talk by Richard Peterson, photographic chronicler of early musical punk. I am going to take a one-day cooking course in Bordeaux, Spanish or Provencal cooking—or all three.

Two finches have adopted me. They sit on my balcony railing and chirp contentedly, endlessly, a reminder of a connection that has been interrupted, not severed.

I am standing less at a distance of my own life. I find myself pulled by the longing created by proximity of others.

But now. Now.

Lightning is playing with the horizon sky.

Dinner was almost unbelievably special.

I have a chair and a pot of herbs on my balcony, and a new chair to sit in.

Today my coffee table should have the glass top it has been waiting for. Next week I will join my first yoga class.

The words are wanting to know where I’ve been–a very good sign.

This is Denver. Backpack land. Bicyclist land. Fitness land. I-am-conscious-what-I-eat land. Arts and food land. All in a smaller, more manageable package. And I will be as much a part of it as I can until the words come back.

A good day. And what isn’t yet good will be.

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