I belong in the evergreen state where, on the beach the broken muscle shells can cut your feet and if you wish you can find a cluster of them stuck to a rock big enough to climb. Once you find them you can take them home and put them in a pot of boiling water. Once they are boiled you can eat them, in the warmth of your home, against an overcast sky.


In my heart I have resisted my presence in the desert, inland of SoCal. I have gritted my teeth to bear it and I have wrestled with the joy of going back. Back to Washington State. Why is it that I don't pack my bags and go back to the place that I love?


Truth: If I was going to do it soon, I would have done it by now.


Why do I stay?

It feels wrong to go back.

Why does it feel wrong?

Unfinished business. The business of my life. Art, the love of people and being loved by them. I am persueing a life without loneliness. This over rides the wretchedness of sunshine. I set the lovely rain aside because I would be alone in it. I will stay here until it is time to go. I am confident that I will know when that is. That time is not now.