Though sunny, the days felt quite foggy and surreal. I split the vacation for two lovely trips back through both parents houses. There I encountered memories of not yesterday, or my childhood even, but memories of my thirties... the years I traveled with an entourage of children, a husband, and in-laws. The years I felt I was building something. Perhaps a home, a ball of roots, thorns and brambles, none the less, an identity.
Now I have become a window pain. I look through it and out of it. There are reflections and framing, interior and exterior perspectives. Subjective and objective.
The experience, not completely easy, was- or must be- good for me.