The building plays us like an orchestra.

There is something deeply wrong with her tuning.

I have not figured out why yet.

I still like ‘Minnie the Moocher’! I miss Louisiana. I miss our childhood home. I miss the heat and fireflies in Mason jars. I miss wooden porches. I even miss the glimpse of an alligator. It’s strange the things we don’t notice at home or don’t care for and how they change so much in our minds when we leave – only then do we see home is not what we thought it was when we took it for granted. I miss a church that doesn’t smell stale. I miss knowing where everything is, so I can walk down any street – without thinking about it. I miss muskrat and civet cats. Woodcocks and mottled ducks. I miss the Delta. I miss jambalaya made with anything, but especially boar. I miss hearing songs in Creole. I miss the coal skin and the slender glass lizard, I miss you, Leo. I smile when I remember us learning how to handle a snapping turtle and how to kill and cook them too, I didn’t want to do any of that then but these things have changed in my memory now I am far away. I do not miss toads. I do not miss red fire ants. I do not miss the yearning to be elsewhere – that I always felt when I was home. I know if I come back again now I will feel like that again no matter how nostalgic I am from a distance.

Edinburgh often has the most beautiful skies.

Pale blue or pink and when cloudless it is breathtaking.

Sometimes the sky races in such a way it seems there are two skies from two different worlds entirely – rushing at each other in opposite directions, layers of cloud and dark moodiness – a hint of stars.

It is dizzying!

One day I will look back fondly on this ancient building. No.10 Luckenbooth Close stares down the city day after day like a slutty girl with a God complex, I know you thought I would find myself such a thing, no such luck yet. I would come home but I am not ready. It is difficult to travel because of the war and whilst I complain about Edinburgh, I like it here really. They say that makes me dour, it’s Scottish for miserable bastard. They have a single word in Gaelic that means ‘my eternal doom is upon me’, I can’t remember it right now. They are an old nation. They have a great wit at times. They need it to survive the damn weather. When it rains it comes down in sheets. Everything turns gray. Sometimes there is a yellow light through the gray like aliens are inspecting the cobbled streets. I think about aliens a lot lately, and if they came down I would go with them, gladly.