Friday, June 25th

Day 67

My suitcase yawns empty on the afternoon bed. Above it, a wasp - yesterday it was a hornet - beats and buzzes at a corner of the skylight window, demented. It is an inch away from flight into the lavender heat. I wonder how long before it discovers there is a way out - open, waiting for it.

We are going home tomorrow. The seams of our little group are pulling apart. Staying or leaving, now we have new stories to write - in our separate ways. I feel opened up by this week, in this good company - in a heat I could take home. A fire I could sizzle in - some life cauldrons I could stir.