There's no place like it.

Sigh.

I am home. I slept in my very own bed last night. I drank coffee from my very own mug this morning.

Returning from JFK via the 59th Street Bridge, the lump in my throat reached unmanageable proportions as I gazed on that unbelievably beautiful New York skyline. Once in my apartment, I stood at my living room window, looking out on 69th Street. The tree that was white with blossoms when I left is now tinged yellow as autumn descends.

My tenant left everything in near perfect condition: No surprises, which is the best way to come home. I had dinner with a dear friend last night. The food was delicious but her company was divine, complete with intense listening, immediate identification and deep intention.

I’m very, very happy to be back.