This morning I wake up in a bed;
not in a tent,
not in a truck,
not on a picnic table.
I wake up in the arms of my husband,
in a solid house,
in Trujillo Creek.
I lay in the warmth of indoor heating,
memories dancing through my thoughts.
So recently made,
I wonder at how deeply felt these memories are,
how treasured the experiences,
how fulfilling the learning,
how dear the people.
I now add a week of writing at Ghost Ranch to my life’s list of adventures.
I look back on it with satisfaction
and with enthusiasm for the future;
for seeing how the lessons learned in the desert will affect who I am.