on the road

The slip of light on my hotel room wall makes the wall look like an open door.

It reminds me of being small, of asking nightly for the door to be left open a crack, to let the light in. And every night, my mom, my dad, my grandmother, my grandfather, would dutifully close the door and open it again, letting in just enough light to reassure me that should I call, someone would come.

In other words, I'm reminded of home.

I decided yesterday to leave Michigan a day early and curtail my road trip. I don't want to go through Canada. I don't want to race the Rhodes in Marblehead (well, I do, but not right now). I just want to go home and start this new life I've chosen for myself.

I think I'm partly excited because I met so many wonderful New Yorkers at the Michigan Womyn's Music Fest. I can't wait to see them again. I can't wait to make new friends.

I'm in Grand Rapids tonight. Tomorrow, ideally, somewhere in Pennsylvania. And then home.