A new home in the desert, and I’m nesting: a mini cactus garden on the kitchen window ledge, and everything—all my things, shoes and cutting boards and tool boxes—in its place, and as much as I have loved being bounced around the world, exploring, I’m surprised at the relief that it is to wake up to this kind of order, to this predictability. My home [delicious words] has a pale blue door and peach walls and a cactus in the courtyard. It’s 105 degrees at noon and I’m happy to be reading and writing and in the bright shade of the indoors. As bright as it is during the day under the squeezing sun—bleach bright, colors fade into pastels—it is dark at night, as light ordinances protect mountain-top telescopes. Tucson is quiet, and I feel quieter here.