On leaving Atlanta

Aug. 8, 2017

I write on a kitchen counter cluttered with all the items that were removed from side tables that have also since been removed – the house is empty and I think we are, too. We are for all intents and purposes departed – most of the goodbyes have already been said, the personal effects carted away. But we are lingering in a skeleton of a home so we can clean. 

Strange to think I don’t like goodbyes since with all the moving about over the years, I say them much more often than the average person.

How do I feel? Well, I've dipped into Van Morrison (“St. Dominick’s Preview”) so I am courting the ache. Plus, all the reporting for Delta and the AJC Personal Journeys essay. I am stewing in nostalgia, by choice, as if to throw a bucket of cold water on my face: You’re leaving, you’re leaving, you’re really doing it, Jeanne. 

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Lost diary entry