I'm back.

I'm back from the beach, from morning coffee runs, from lackadaisical afternoons with family, from late nights at Bourbon Street, where my girl and I became some sort of legends when last we were there, from the changing of the guard in my family--my sis and I prepared the entire meal with some stuffing thrown in by the bro-in-law--it felt like the beginning of an era rather than the end of one, which is a beautiful thing.

Winter's coming on strong. I feel her crisp air encircle me in the morning. I snuggle down a little deeper at night. Sniffles abound as people around me battle bouts of the usual cold. In the air, I hear the whispers of ghosts passing by to remind me of another time and place that feels worlds away. They carry longing to me and gratitude, wrapped in the same sheath. I miss her still. Perhaps, I always will. Perhaps it will only happen these times when the temperature takes me back, recalls her in the cold on her cell phone outside a restaurant, being teased to no end for braving the cold to call me.

And to this, contrast my new love. Something magical that's seemed to happen in a moment, a relationship whose depths surprize me, whose newness belies its intensity and the range of challenges and joys we've faced, survived and grown through.

There is, indeed, a good deal to be grateful for, a good deal of work to do, and much anticipation of what's to come.

November 26, 2001