Hills in two places

Today, I returned from a visit to Virginia, and already there is a fly buzzing in my room. The sun shines directly through my window and crests my computer at this time of day. I am thankful for these drab blinds but not for the fly. The drive down merited a vanilla latte but on the way back, I chose hazelnut. I prefer the first. The hills here are like the ones I hiked and the ones in West Virginia: covered in changing trees. The leaves are so pretty this time of year, and I can hardly imagine spending last year with only one fall day. England is missing out.

I came to Virginia with small bug bites on my ankles and frustration with my Islam class. I left with three big bumps that wake me each night with their itchiness: one on each leg and one on my neck. The neck one has formed itself into the more generally accepted mound of a bite, but it first spanned its space flat and long, like Tennessee.

Now, I've come back to two long hard books to read for this week and a project for printmaking. But that's alright: this has been a restful break. And I learned more about myself and interactions with the world than I would've in class. I read some Rilke. Here's some that moved me:

But your solitude will be a hold and home for you even amid very unfamiliar conditions and from there you will find all your ways.

I hope you are finding solitude in your unfamiliar place, becoming familiar.