Waiting for a handyman to meet me in a parking lot near the river, the friend who recommended him stopped by to chat. Pretty soon, a mutual friend pulls up and the three of us converse through open windows.

The angel, disguised as a handyman, came, crawled under my bus, diagnosed the problem and continued on to fix it as a gift of service, which was so unexpected and special, too, as if some karma was coming back.

As that’s happening on the right side of the skoolie, a car comes into the parking lot, throwing gravel with a sharp turn and pulls up as the fourth in our line of vehicles to my left. It was the woman whose driveway I had been parking in. Suddenly it was a coven quorum. We posed for photos and then my aunt pulls in with her dog. She knew where I’d be and had come to exchange an empty flask that had held the herbal liquid golden liqueur, Strega, she’d sent to me in Georgia, along with fruitcake. I used both in my dark moon in Aquarius ritual. Anyhow, she hands over two fancy bottles holding the more of the sweet strong Strega that is so steeped in legend and magic, great for sipping after a meal. But I digress.

We’re all five standing outside our vehicles, very far apart from one another. And it was surreal. It was as if we were all checking in to make sure we were all still sane in a world unthinkable when this year began and knowing the worst is yet to come. But today I am grateful to all who came to be together; there was nothing like that on my entire trip. And it comes, in part, to feeling good about being home. Only I am still sitting with multiple definitions of home: my home on wheels, home near where I grew up, not far from an area I called home until 10 months ago, yet the farm in New Hampshire is my legal home. Now I find myself lost and just listening to the sound of the rain on the roof.