Tonight, Christmas Eve, is dim and murky. I love fog—its mystery, its softness, its quiet. If it weren't for the stench drifting down from the rendering plant 40 miles away, I would go for a walk. As it is, I'm content to retreat to my attic for the night. I'm very sleepy, and tomorrow...well, tomorrow is Christmas.
The only thing that will surprise me in the morning is what a mess my room still is. After arriving home on Wednesday, it's been a slow process getting things put away and readjusting to life here. But I don't need Christmas to be a vehicle for surprise. I find enough things in each day to surprise me. Expecting Christmas to be full of a year's worth of surprises would be too much. I don't think I could handle that all in one day.
I feel like I should say something eloquent and substantial, something to sum up my three months away. But how would that be any real representation of all that I've done and seen and thought? Just as there are so many other words I could have chosen to form these three paragraphs, there are too many ways I can tell my stories. Indeed, I've already told many of those stories in many different ways. I don't expect I'll ever tell the final version. Life is too surprising for me to expect that.
Happy Christmas Eve, all. I'm glad to be home, glad to have gone and seen, glad to have time now to figure out what's next.
Welcome home. I look forward to the next chapter in the life of April as the Wanderlust section has closed. Merry Christmas!
Posted by: Brian | 2005.12.25 at 02:26 PM