Trekhprudny Lane

Woke up in Moscow after traveling all day yesterday. The girls are out with good old Lena, searching for ducklings on the pond. The alders sparkle here, and the little bits of green between buildings seem still flush with spring momentum, while back in Andalusia everything in the landscape is browning into a coffee-colored desert. It is so good to have this quiet, to let the shock recede, to just rest. I can already see there'll be no "home to the states" anytime soon; we have not gotten around to making that home yet. I'll take the girls back to the cortijo next week and finish our stay, declining any repeat invitations from neighborly men to pick cherries in the evening, and everything will be fine.