pensive

I’m sitting in the living room of our little house, watching the rain pound against the windows as the traffic rolls by. I have slowly grown to love this house. With hammer and nail, we have gradually made it our own over the last year, and it is the place I go to find peace. I couldn’t always say that — in this home or in others. And I am glad to be able to say that now. I really, truly, love this house.

It is, like most things, far from perfect. Incessant noise from the gas station and high school across the street, neighbors who move in and out with the changes in the weather. Or faster. The tiny little yard which I have made into an urban homestead of sorts, but at times feels more like a study in origami than a garden space. I have always loved challenges.

I could live here for many more years. I could be very happy here for quite some time. I could continue to teach, masking my frustrations and celebrating even the tiniest, most wonderfully rewarding moments.

But then, there are dreams. Dreams start so small; a tiny bit of condensation left on the bottom of a glass, an exhale of breath. At first, you notice them briefly, perhaps laugh, and brush them aside.

And then, you acknowledge them. You start to feel the space they take up in the air. The warmth of their breath greets you suddenly, then wisps away. You begin to like them. You begin to look for them; in corners, in the fog of the bathroom mirror, mixing with the mud from your boots. You create elaborate schemes to collect them, and the dreams gather to a mist which fills your days. You leave a glass of water out. You turn on the teakettle. The dreams you once ignored begin to swell and rise. You can feel a change in barometric pressure around them. They fill your home. You breathe them in, and they are warm and thick and wet. Very soon, something must happen. And so not knowing what else to do, you watch the rain pounding at the front window.

We may be outgrowing our life here, at least in it’s present incarnation. This is at the same time tragic and exciting for both of us, and we find ourselves holding our breath, waiting for some sign of what, if anything, is next.

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