The storm has broken

The storm has broken

I'm home now.  Isn't it funny how you can be away for so long, so long that your dad eats all the Pop-tarts and kills your mother's plant and nearly loses your dog, but still come home and get in bed and feel like you've never left?  I love that.

Here are some of my favorite pictures from my trip.   We went from Pennsylvania to New York to Connecticut to Massachusetts, with a side trip to Rhode Island.  These are totally out of order, though.  And they don't capture the excessive heat and humidity or the frequent GPS-related frustration or the constant future-triggered self-doubt that was the essence of the ten days. 

Five hundred pictures.  Darn it, why do I take so many?  I ask myself that all the time - why do I have to capture this moment, this sight, this landscape, this right now over all the other right nows?  That sounds like the Four Questions - why is this night different from all other nights?  That question makes more sense to me now than it did when I was eight.  I wish the answers made more sense too.