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Mornings are when I usually write.

It's quieter and my sleepy mind still allows the words that it really thinks to slip through to my fingers, spilling out onto the page or screen.

What do I really think this morning?

Let's find out.

I think coffee is wonderful. There. I said it. There's a hot cup just to the right of me on my antique writing desk my sister and wife got for me. My ex-father-in-law (I think that's the correct word for it) helped restore it. Now it shines just below my keyboard.

I sit here in a magnificent octagonal room in the heart of our new home in Hannibal, Missouri now. There is a fireplace to my right and a tall bay window just behind me. Pocket doors to the left. Another light wood-paneled doorway goes out to the kitchen to my right, and to the hall directly in front of me.

Thank goodness our AC works really well here. Lately, it's been in the '90s with high humidity. A big change from the dry parched New Mexican deserts with its endless blue skies. We are here now, instead of there. The notion still seems unfathomable and yet here we are. My coaster is still one I swiped from my favorite local Albuquerque bar, Sidetrack. A plant slowly grows in a little white pot just to my right on my desk. Minimalist. Quiet as the morning. The only sounds now are the cool air breathing out of the vents, the ceiling fan whirling, and occasional traffic humming by along the street below.

Where am I? It's hard to say. Understanding and experiencing Place is difficult for me. Feeling it. Being in it. Inhabiting it. Ancient Chinese wisdom I once read said that the space of a room is everything which is not. The space besides everything I just described. Fascinating.

Where do I inhabit? What is the space which is in my new home? Street? Town? Area? Relationships?

I am slowly feeling it out. Understanding more with my heart than my head. More with my senses than my dumb lumbering gait.

Time for more coffee :)


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