Dear Wigleaf,

It seems so far away since we last spoke this past fall, November 5 to be exact. Everything seems far away from that date. Like squinting into a telescope backward. I've been traveling. I wake to different languages, different smells, to the moon rising above eastern spires. I think about the concept of home, whether it's based on a place or person or something else entirely. Will I ever return? What will I return to? But I know you'll be there for me, for all of us, and for that, I'm grateful, and maybe a bit hopeful.

Until we meet again,

Josh