pining for the moon

My friend Andrew convinced me to actually keep up with this blog, so here I am, at 10:36 at night, sitting in my friend Kim's house before going to bed and writing to you, my dear unknown reader, of things close to my heart. I am back in the place I truly have missed more than I believe it's possible to explain. It doesn't make much sense, I suppose, to miss a place where I lived only for six months, but Wyoming, and Pinedale, have such a pull on me. I felt so emotional that I almost cried when I crossed the border from Idaho to Wyoming, listening to Bob Dylan and Carrie Rodriguez and, passing Fremont, I breathed. Understand I love New York City and I know my time to really hunker down in Pinedale has passed, but I write secret love letters to Wyoming all the time, believing those thoughts will somehow meander across the country and land in the tree branches now covered in yellow and soon to be gloriously, genuinely bare.