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Dorland, Day 28

It's my last morning here. I'm jetting off to San Francisco in a couple hours, but I was up at 5:15 am to watch the sunrise and it was spectacular.

I don't know what to write here. I feel like I should have something really profound to say in my final hours. Maybe those words will come later, as I drive away and leave this mountain behind me for a while. Leaving will be sad, but cathartic. I spent time here rejoicing, grieving, both reveling in the solitude and hating it, laughing at myself and my absurd fears and anxieties, crying over lost film and a broken heart. I experienced my first major earthquake here, which shook my little cottage for the longest 30 seconds of my life. I was also much closer to a major wildfire than I could ever want. A coyote came to my window one night and howled and howled and yipped and howled some more. Hummingbirds followed me everywhere I went, almost every day. I lived through the Santa Ana winds that blew like hell most days. I survived two heat waves above 110F. But I never saw a desert rain and I never saw a rattlesnake. So I guess I have to come back.

I'll miss you Dorland. I'll miss the desert. I'll miss this stunning mountain view and the incredibly fascinating wildlife. I'll miss the solitude even. But I doubt this is goodbye forever.



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