No matter how long your journey, it always comes to a close. And whether you have made the most of lingers on your mind as you trouble over all the surplus items you have greedily hoarded, and all the new beginnings you plan on making  once back home. 

Six months is too long a time for vacation, and too short for our wandering lifestyle to count as truly being away. There's an eager anticipation to return to things left behind, memories yet to be made, occasions yet to be celebrated. There's a tiny holocaust lingering in the closing bracket of time to do as much as possible before leaving this opportune continent. A constant battle of available space versus available greens versus available access, all weighing down one another now and again.

I wonder if the sky-scape back home was as grand everyday as the cloud splattered azure canvas of the southern states. . . I wonder whether stepping off the plane will be a rush of nostalgia or a nonchalance. . . And would all the things I have learnt of lifestyle and luxury bury themselves under the existing rush of an ongoing tradition previosuly etched in stone.

Time will tell all.