I take a deep dive into a longer than intended afternoon nap in my quieter than usual cabin bunk. And then, wake groggily, to walk by the lake, one of my last walks here.
Today, I feel transition angst, as I often do - when the end of a journey is near, but not complete. Tomorrow, we finish the story. Tomorrow, we depart for home. I'm restless, even irritable.
I'm restless for the end. I place one foot on this land in Maine at the edge of Damariscotta. The other is stretches over Maine to the state of Massachusetts, reaching toward my land on the Charles River, my homecoming: my longing to walk with my daughter and have her recount the story of the deer giving birth, and touch the spot where the fawn was birthed and where she struggled to stand on her new feet in my absence. We will reconnect with our stories of our travels.