Okay, so it wasn't a bear. But I've been having close encounters with a raccoon outside my building for several weeks now, and although I can't say for certain if it's the same raccoon (well, they do all wear the same outfit), it evidences an alarming affinity for my companionship. On my last night in Boulder, when I'm taking the trash out for the umpteenth "final" time, this little rotter appears, as usual, peering beadily from behind a railroad tie. I back away, as usual, in my best nonconfrontational manner. Nature's all well and good in its place, but really, it belongs in Percy Shelley poems and not in my lap. But he (she?) must've sensed that this was the last-ditch moment to make friends, because s/he crawled out and started following me into my building, for all the world as though we were going to have a lovely chat over a cup of tea with Snow White and Mr. Toad.
So, after six months of planning, I've finally set out on the first leg of this grand adventure. I left Boulder on Monday, 31 July for San Francisco, where I'm spending a couple of weeks with my family. My last night at my apartment in Boulder was appropriately dislocating; having already deposited absolutely everything that wouldn't fit into my backpack with friends, I hung out on the floor in a borrowed sleeping bag, listening to the air conditioner struggle and waiting for dawn. I did consciously endeavor not to be sentimental about the whole thing; one's life need be neither The Grapes of Wrath nor The Way We Were. But I did allow myself a moment of looking around my empty and silent home and owning the fact that it was no longer mine. Not pathetic, but rather purifying.
Here's the collection of possessions that will sustain me for the next half-year. Boulder Creek and the Flatirons at dawn. The walk up the hill to school that I won't be taking until it's icy instead of verdant.
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