A feeling - somewhere after the last vestiges of real homesickness have died down but before the quiet settling in of contentment somewhere new. Sadness of a kind, I suppose. A loss, a disconnect. ‘Melancholy’ doesn’t fit as a description. It isn’t resignation.
A time between homes.
A kind of small sadness you know will pass.
The air was warm tonight as I walked down quiet suburban roads on my way home. TVs flickered against walls glimpsed through curtained windows. Families settling in. I keep forgetting I’m in a North American city. It’ll be summer soon. Somewhere new.





