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

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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.