Returning.
I am returning.
Returning home.
Home where my heart rests.
Where I feel as though I make difference.
Where I feel I belong most.
Days are slowly passing.
Five more.
Four more.
I am so close.
And my excitement continues to grow.
I am stuck in the preparation.
The days run together.
Sort, pack, weigh.
Sort, pack, weigh.
Repetitive.
But the constant repeating doesn't really matter.
It is just something to occupy my time until I am seated on that United air flight.
Until I switch airlines in DC to fly to Zurich and onto Dar es Salaam.
Until I stand with my toes in the Indian Ocean and breathe salty Africa into my lungs.
Until I walk through the markets and pick out pieces of Africa that I'll bring back with me.
Until I stare into a cup of red chai and realize it can only taste this good here.
Until I ride those roads home and watch familiarity flash by.
Until I crest that last hill and this comes into view.
Until I have returned home.
.
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