Unpacking from a trip always seems to be the hardest part of any time away for me.
I unzip my suitcase and the scent of dirty socks mixed with a little sweat and long faded sunscreen hits me. Snippets of a forever memorable adventure flash before me and the reality of it being over, all smushed and wrinkled in a battered suitcase stings a little.
Each time I come home from the west; I feel a little less complete. Parts of me are slowly being left behind and I’m not sure what else but relocating there will take to put me back together. Scattered pieces of Jen; all over Southern California, Utah and Arizona. Like lost treasures.
Heart. Soul. Energy.
Check, check, check. There’s nothing like waking under the desert moon and sun with no rain fly on your tent. (Things you don’t get to do in the Midwest: Exhibit A.) The Superstition Mountains looming behind me. You never feel alone in the desert. A thousand cacti and rocks and small lizard eyes on you at all times. And flies.
The desert seems to breathe at night. The wind kicked my tent around, both nudging me awake and lulling me to sleep; feeding my dreams with visions of sandstorms.
But the sunrise is the real treat. The sky is made of watercolor splashes of fire and smoke.