musings

As I was walking home during the wonderful hour of twilight, I had a burst of inspiration.  I recalled nearly six months previous when I was the new girl.  A stranger to Logan.  My first weekend here was busy.  No time to think, or worry, or miss.  Until Sunday night when things began to slow.  I sat on my living room couch overwhelmed with advice about purchasing textbooks when a meltdown ensued.  Surrounded by new surroundings, new friends, new neighbors, I longed for the old.  So I broke the pact and made the phone call.  When I should have been brushing teeth and fluffing pillows, I sat instead in the passenger seat of a concerned and understanding roommate.  Campus was new so we met at a landmark.  Small talk.  Small touch.  Big feelings.  He walked me only halfway because it was no longer his responsibility to drop me at my door.  

And this is the point in this particular memory where the inspiration came.  I remember walking down the hill alone and noticing the city lights.  Stars on the ground.  I was smitten.  However, this city was still foreign.  Strange.  I had to remind myself of where I was walking.  And I wondered when this city would fit like my favorite pair of jeans.

Fast forward.  Tonight my feet were walking me home.  And my feet slowed to enjoy those city lights. Sure it is cold, but this is my city.  It no longer feels foreign. 

How I hope that someday I find myself in a foreign country, possibly riding the Metro in Ukraine, feeling at home.  Like Kiev is my city.  And Russian my language.