July 11, 2024:
The weather was lovely, the light was beautiful.
It was my home, but it wasn't.
The roads are the same, but the canyons are filled.
There are trolleys and gentrification, but the river and the backs of malls are crowded with homeless.
The trolleys are convenient but rife with commotion by the mentally disturbed.
To be "home",
to have been exiled for so long,
to be very and I do mean extremely conscious of the limited time remaining for me to make my contribution.
Or to fail at that.
Mostly, to be "home".