On my birthday we got up early, ate brunch and drove to Malibu and Escondido Canyon Park. The Yelp reviews for the hike were misleading; I wore a summer dress and boots for what would end up being, at the end, a near-verticle assent to a dried up, disappointing waterfall. But we didn’t stop, not even when we reached the first waterfall, little more than a trickle down a sheer rockface. There was more moss than water. There was more dirt than water.
I’ve been away from Scotland for one month and three days and I don’t necessarily want to go back. I don’t necessarily feel this overwhelming desire to go back, but the plane leaves tonight and I’ll be on it. And then after Scotland there will be somewhere else to go and then after that there will be somewhere else and so far I haven’t found anywhere I want to stay for very long.
Last night I ate the last of the Cadbury mini eggs and I finished cleaning out the basement and I didn’t sleep well. I woke up at 1 and then at 3 and I had that moment I always have upon waking up in the middle of the night, that moment that goes something like: Why did I just wake up? Did I hear something? Did someone break into my house? How much longer do I have to lay here before I must get up and start running for my life?
It’s an important thing to calculate. Fight or flight or complacency.
Right now: flight. (literally.)
Pretty soon, I hope: some new, fourth option. Settle down. Rest. Relax. Stay.
photographs taken with a Canon 60D