-Salt Lake City

this time of year, the sun sets pretty far north. from the south end of salt lake valley, high on the bench above the aluevial plane, it’s just past the smokestack near saltair, far beyond the darkened slopes of Antelope island.  this morning it seemed so cold, so odd. Frost gladed the deck at margaret’s in jackson when I left, and as I headed south I realized the cold and snow and gropple of the last few days wasn’t so incrogruous becuase of the date. That’s an abstraction.

It was the angle of the sun.

When it’s as far north as now, when the days get this long, my body just senses the days should be warmer. there should be no snow. the dissonance came from the lattitude.

And now, here, back in the home that’s not my home, where the smells are the same, and nothing and everything is different, where the person I was and the woman I loved were together, sleeping out on the porch this time of year, grateful for the leaves blocking the slanting heat of the afternoon sun, don’t live anymore, there’s still something of home here. it is the place most in the world I feel I belong, in the same moment as I feel like I should be anywhere but here. The light is right, the angle is right, the smells of the russian olive are right… and yet, it’s wrong.

Not to wallow in suffering over, just to acknowledge. And, perhaps, a chance to do one thing, once, the way it should be done. It’s good to be home, God, I miss it so.