Refugee

We are accepting the house as a home, or perhaps more precisely, it is accepting us. Ravens wheel and caw, owls call, loons, ducks and geese are leaving in loud gaggles. If one dials back the human noise and pays attention, the sounds of the wild are comforting.

Alice has become more imbued in the place than I. But then, she spends many hours alone here. Instead of a large, wooded yard and a shady deck complete with cushioned chairs, she now has a small platform high above the yard. A somewhat busy road populated by joggers, dog walkers, bikers and sundry vehicular traffic entertain her. Rather than voicing alarm at the proximity of the world, she sits in silent disapproval.

There are still piles of art and tchotchkes seeking permanent homes, but order is coming to the chaos and this mini-version of the Temple house is absorbing our belongings. Winter will offer its own challenge with the addition of outerwear, but by then I think we will have this relocation under control.

Rain on the tin roof, pure comfort.

Welcome to my new town!