Birds of a feather

The thing with moving is that it takes me time to settle-in.

My spirit rises from my body and takes a week or two to drift back down to earth. I wander around confused and distracted, misplacing the phone, glasses of cold water, pens. Bird-brained, I seek my roost and can't seem to understand that this new breezy apartment is my home.

I bump into furniture in the dark. My washing machine won't work. And last night I slipped and landed with a full-body thud onto the balcony in a misguided attempt to right a fallen plant. Note to self: the balcony is slippery as ice when wet.

I'll call when I land.