A balmy night. Summer still. The tiny tiny stinging sensation around my ankles could be from tiny tiny insects, or my imagination. I am on the street, sitting in front of a strange coffeehouse, taking advantage of their wi-fi. The smoothie I had there within the hour entitles me, I'd say. So I'm not sneaking around tonight.

When I look up the street, I see headlights approaching from cars coming over the bridge. With my glasses off, the glow from neon signs in shop windows is cheering. The flags—stars and stripes—barely move in the gentle breeze; they salute each other from both sides of the street. Young voices laugh in the dark down the sidewalk. The young owner of this new coffeeshop has just turned off the outside lights. When I left town, this place was a dream starting to take shape. They're mopping the floor now. Soon, he will come and take in the tables, and this chair which is patterning me in a not comfortable way. They work hard here. And oh, no, I'm not making this up: someone has just disturbed my peace by setting off some sort of firework here in town—no beautiful sky shapes either, just sudden frightening noise. I know that tonight at the fair in Heath, miles away, fireworks were scheduled. Perhaps, I say— immodestly and irrationally—that all this noise and more noise and now light flashing above the rooftops across the street is for me. A sort of welcome home. Because that is precisely where I am. Here, in Shelburne Falls.

It's changed, and it's the same. Tourists were here in droves today. The trash barrels are already full, and there's still Sunday to come. I walked around town and enjoyed the pleasure of moments with friends I met along the way. I went with Jay as he ran errands, watched as he filled his shopping basket with beautiful tomatoes, lettuce, small cucumbers, and luxuriantly flowing fennel, ingredients for the meal he would prepare later for friends. I loved seeing Jay that way—in the aisles of the coop, preparing to create, beauty in each gesture—more to come later, at the table.

Here I am now, in this moment, on this night, in one of my favorite places. Persistent music drifts down from an apartment upstairs. The fireworks are over. Car doors open and shut. The policeman's radio makes static behind me. I'm about to close my laptop and go home. Soon enough the streets will be quiet, at least on my end across from the bank and our lovely old library. I'll put my clothes back on the shelves. I'll look at my souvenirs. I'll use my home toothbrush. But I'm not done yet with this trip that fills my head, as my eyes and heart fill now with my town, the hills and the lush summer green that surround it.