A friend last week scolded me lovingly, "You just need to move and get it over with. You're making this harder than it needs to be. You'll be fine on the other side of this."
Or actually, more accurately, she laughed and said she had been tempted to scold but she knows I know. And she is right.
It's just that I've loved this place and living here and the people and stories it has brought into my life. It's not that I'm sad. Just rootless.
We have no home waiting for us there.
|though there is a valley where I can hear my totem bird -|
sandhill cranes --
no house though will have us yet
as far as we can tell
And we feel like mere renters here.
Our old house (we say that now, our old house) emptying around us. Bare floors revealing themselves like the unavoidable realities they are. And pools of time wasted looking out the windows, asking, Did I look out at this sky often enough?
Did I choose the right things to leave undone?
And how can this be ending right now in what feels like the middle of the story?
Of course we'll be fine.
I am so of the moment that wherever I am I know I can find reason to fall in love with it. But right now I am here in the place I have lived the longest among people I have loved with some of the best that's in me and for now this present moment seems infinite and impossible to go beyond.