April 2015. The days are longer. The chill in the air feels like spring-cold rather than winter-cold. Trees are leafing out, owls are calling for mates, foxes are trotting over the creek in the mornings. The red-shouldered hawks call and circle.
It’s our own version of As the World Turns.
Coming home after being away six months feels both strange and familiar. Stepping into an empty house seems full of possibility–how can we keep this open, uncluttered feeling without tossing absolutely everything we stored last summer? Kneeling for the first time to pull weeds in the garden strikes me as both frivolous and necessary–how can I retrain myself to tend to a pied à terre after going without? There are three popular maxims that apply, I suppose: (1) It is what it is, (2) It’s all good, and (3) No worries.
Enjoy the spring. I will be. I’m finishing my novel researched in Canada; I’m applying for funding to keep writing; and I’m engaging in much of the work I started before departing last August. Re-meeting friends is a delight. Seeing family again is salve for the soul. And being home in our house in the woods is, overall, a quiet, nurturing gift.
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