Tallahassee: Settling

I spend most of a Sunday, four days in to my freshly settled life in Tallahassee, Florida, sitting on the front porch finishing the Jim Harrison novel¬†Dalva. I need a church or some volunteer work or both. I think of calling Mama–when was the last time we talked? It feels like it did when I lived in Batesville and the conversations with my parents were impressionist dreams, never with much purpose, but important. I was following a sixth sense each time I called them.

But on the road, these conversations were my lifeline, the bright realist marks among days that flew by in comic strip images of nature and old friends. I needed them more than I ever did before. I wonder how to recreate that import now. With letters? Letters require two people to be of the same mind in communication. Mindfulness, a choice to remember.

I restart another habit from my former, settled life: I write quotations on paper and tape them on the walls.¬†Again, I set my roots on my own terms, but now they are tied to the earth where it is called “Tallahassee.”

Originally written in June of 2016.

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