Traveling was long and uneventful, the latter for which I am glad, and the former for which I am still tired. This morning I opened my window and could see clear north to the Tentsmuir and the hills beyond. I walked into town for lunch, happy to be walking, breathing crisp cold, clean air, first through the quiet neighborhoods and then onto South Street, bustling. I picked up a wrap from Butler’s, then onward to the old end of Market Street. The church bells tolled the hour. I saw the seagulls wheeling overhead; heard them and smiled. They will drive me crazy soon enough. Through the window to the common room I saw the denizens of 66 gathered for lunch, and knew that I was home.