Cream curtains draped in light. Its morning. As I look closer, I notice tiny creases and window pane shadows on fabric. The curtain length lingers on the floor, too long to hang completely. I’ve woken up on a soft leather couch, quieter and warmer than usual, at my friend’s house. We had a girl’s slumber party, eating salad, cucumber sandwiches, cake, drinking ginger and watermelon elixirs prepared by Sarah, talking until 2am. No one else is awake. I cannot sleep later than 8:30. Not with the energizing sun streaming hello through blank slate curtains, as if saying today is open to possibilities and whims of the imagination, to hiking in the mountain magic of snow and aspens, to reading with tea near a fireplace, to taking some time for journaling, to talking to my sister.

The girls are up now, murmuring in a bedroom. The dogs too, barking playfully in the back yard. Already, so much joy in the day.

I woke up feeling officially settled back in to Santa Fe, a month after moving back. A cohesian of friends and social time, work and creative pursuits. Funny how it takes a while to develop that rhythm that determines the quality of fitting in a place, of belonging.