Utah is cool, almost. Mid 80’s, a light breeze between the leaves of green trees. Mountains frame the view from all directions, and the sunlight teases instead of burns.
I am not exactly sure what I am supposed to say to you, except that my baby is more sick (this pains me) but it’s good to be home. Good to be home with my husband and mother-in-law, in a gleaming clean apartment that smells of smooth surfaces, in a gleaming clean apartment that is warm with the smells of coriander, ginger, and turmeric (an Indian bean soup that my husband made).
"Without love, maybe nothing is real."
I don’t feel quite real today, tired and foggy and lost in transition between states, between homes. This home- the one I share with my husband and baby and mother-in-law- feels like a different planet, and I struggle to find the thread of continuity. But when I see my husband’s face, my roots go way down. This is real, I know.