New York left me salty and the entire time i was craving sweet. The streets didn't have their normal juice and as packed full as they were, it felt like a ghost town. The show was a showing of new things and that was nice; as were the evenings i was able to spend with the faces and laughter and stories from those who dwell in the night of that city. But relieved to a huge sigh to return home. We are moving into the smallest of apartments with the most amount of love. And we hike in only sweatshirts in the middle of February and listen to bluegrass on Monday nights and grab burritos at local joints and i'm left to wonder why it isn't thanksgiving in February because i am so grateful. For long days and simple evenings. For babies being born all around. For scouring up muddy canyons with a fist full of wildflowers. For the ocean so close and the space to breathe and for a list of a hundred other little things. For the stories that you haven't written yet but i know went through your head. Will you send me them sometime soon? I'm sticking with quieter stories these days, not so much the where and when and with whom. But more so the how.Heather's lesson and advice for the future: beware of New York with it's tempting carb ridden ways. It will smother you with its bagels and pizza and pretzels and quaint Italian restaurants ways.
