In every journey, there is the grace of arrival. The day or so to set things up. Usually, in automobiled American suburbia, this involves spending the day walking to the shops to secure the necessary goods. And then the deeper shifts start.
On one level, I'm going from forty days or so in a city that has some peculiar parallels with Odysseus' underworld to the first Christian, then republican, capital in the region. On another level, I'm going from one set of rooms to another. Opportune moments to emphasize either frame of reference.
But the lesson of antiquity seems clear -- don't run off the roof, chasing the departing ships.
ψευδο-οριζοω.
Gently down the stream... God willin' and the crick don't rise.