landed.

back home again, children adorned in winter Red Sox hats, dogs appropriately excited to see me, showered all of the travel off of me and now i am pretending to be adjusted to this side of my life.

it had been a long time since i'd been back east during autumn, and i have to admit that it reminded me of how wounded i've been without it.  the smell alone was enough to initiate little teary eyes: that musky, leaf-cold that is warmed by the sun.  the sight of the swirling leaves and the colors, dear god, the colors!  who knew that my world had missed those so much?

i spent sunday morning raking leaves with my parents: listening to them argue about big piles versus small piles, the lost-familiar sound of the metal on the grass, the idea that the lawn was happy to be massaged in such a way, as my mom put it.  the ache that accompanies that work, so specific to the place where i used to live.

and then i was in the company of the women who have loved me through most of my life, and we laughed together in a collective breath that sustains me still.  

i drove the streets of my old hometown, marveling at the newness of it all, seeking out those places that meant something to me . . . oh look, the corner where i had my first french kiss!  that playground where we all went that time, remember?

and yet through it all, i missed my Los Angeles family, i missed my reality in this home-place.  the nostalgia of autumn is strong, potent, poisonous even--in the way that perfume is bad for you.  it is heady and intoxicating, and it makes me want to launch myself into pile of leaves and roll around like a puppy.

it makes me want to be who i used to be.

but then life moves on: my flight is on time, my best friend drops me at the airport, i get through security, find my seat and start watching what turns out to be five and a half straight hours of bravo ("vanderpump rules"-- sweet desperate gods save me) and fall into a fitfull sleep, my head knocking from side to side in that way that screams air travel.

then i'm back here, and the warm weather greets me with resolution.  we wait for the van nuys flyaway bus: me, and the hasidic man, and the persian woman, and the mexican man of indeterminate age.  these are my neighbors now: these are the colorful fall varieties that greet me and welcome me back to  this home of mine.  the concrete and taquerias and cloudless sky that tells me i am right where i should be.

still, the longing for what i just had, not more than nine hours ago . . . with those thoughts, and the smell of the leaves on my table, i sigh.