Word After Word

My perfect Michigan weekend: I found my first morel (by myself). There he was, at my feet, like a little grouchy gnome whispering quit trying. I screamed so loud I shocked the forest, scared many morels away. I saw a loon and a bald eagle. The eagle was standing by the side of the highway in this bold shaft of light looking fake, bold, important, presidential. I was listening to a book on beauty (thanks, Minton!) and the author was talking about how when we die, we don’t just miss a place, that place misses us, and mourns for us. Across from the eagle there were the crosses marking car crashes, death. Sunday afternoon, a terrific portal. Driving home. I wonder where my home really is. I feel like I moved to Michigan significantly this weekend, finding the morel, seeing the loon, watching the moon over larch trees.