The other night I was walking across Jesus Green in the dark. I could see a group of people sitting next to the Lock in a circle, and then fire, a brilliant illumination against the backdrop of water coursing over the weir. A few puzzled swans had stopped to watch the spectacle.
I kept walking along the water toward my boat and started to think about the notion of home. When Sarah-Jane visited we talked about the towns we live in, and I told her that I am mystified not to feel more homesick since the latest move.
She shrugged and pointed out that I am a traveler; this surprised me because I have always imagined myself belonging in one place. But I suppose my former geographic stability had more to do with the limits imposed by the illness than any particular desire to live where I grew up.
But seeing the fire made me miss my friends. I thought about Bob and the Palace, with the trapeze in the living room and skate ramp in the backyard. I wondered what my friends might be doing this week.
When I got home there was email from both Bob and Marisa telling me about travels and adventures and plans. My friends never stay in one place either. Iām sure that I will see more people on this tour than I would if I tried to visit my old home.