A small voice on the other side of the wall from his room, 5:00 a.m. I do not hesitate, I go. This is the homecoming I’ve been waiting for. Soon enough, I am familiar again, to the Special One, and the day of homecoming begins. I decide the house can be in disarray, can stay this way as long as it takes. Order, some day, soon enough, in our fire-disrupted house, will be restored. It is good to be home; it is good to have been gone. There is glitter of sun on snow in the yard, on the field grass. I go out for a ski, early, with Charlie and Suzi. I cut my own trail on our property, and then enter the Rocky Narrows trail which is well groomed by other skiers. Pass the bubbling brook and stop. The river is frozen, and the wetlands. But the brook runs across the rocks, makes music. The sky is as blue as it has been in Costa Rica. It is snow, however, not sand I’m moving on. I am glad to be in the woods in the cold sunshine, my tanned cheeks growing chilled pink. I listen to New York Times podcasts of the last few days trying to get current on the Ukraine crisis. This is not the state the world was in a few weeks ago when I left. I accomplish lovely visits and conversations with family and my dear friend who stops by; food shopping and making a meal for dinner. The youngest and her boyfriend come. A small amount of unpacking gets done. I have returned with what it was most important to return with: a sense of renewed energy and a positive mood, and patience. And gratitude.