Today it’s a free-write day, 25 minutes let’s see what we say

it’s my last night here

sitting outside under the fig tree and the air is fresh and sweet

nighttime cool, and cricket quiet. behind me the branches break, a boar rustling in the dark. i don’t want to leave

here, it’s my last night, before I leave with my big suitcase. i overpacked and the weight of material possessions is

pounding my heat is pounding, and it’s my last night but I am not alone,

I’m not alone anymore, now friends are visiting for the weekend and tomorrow in the morning we drive back.

I arrived here by bus, with a big suitcase it was so heavy.

it was good for me to be here, alone.

and now i’m sitting outside and there are so many things I didn’t do, overcome with the missed opportunities, the sudden desire to sleep on the hammock except now a friend is lying in it and I want him out, I want it to be mine again, all of it mine, it was mine

it was my home here, for a time

In the evenings I listened to music and made art and learned and wrote and celebrated the silence and the solitude and the freedom.

i made wild rice and lentil curry, it was so easy to cook in this kitchen. every pot and appliance beautiful.

the mosquitoes bite at me now. tomorrow i leave.

I am tensed with saying goodbye.

Write for 25 minutes a day, every day. Celebrating the process & the practice.