And I said, "I guess so."
While it is certainly time that we move on into our own home, it is bittersweet. When we first moved to Pennsylvania, we were battered and wilted. The hustle of the city had worn us both down, and we desperately needed to reset and recharge... and the place that we called home for six years did that. We walked through the woods, ran through the tall grasses, and gingerly tiptoed across babbling streams. When I was recovering from my cancer surgery, too tired and in pain to move around, I would sit in front of the window and stare for hours, counting bluebirds and watching dozens of purple martins comb the yard for worms. I watched the drunken rise and fall of swallows feeding their families. I would trace the serpent of mist hovering over creek, snaking through the landscape, a breathy beast. In our postcard view, we experienced the ever-changing seasons. The walls and roof sheltered us, our tears and our laughter. Even though it was time to go, we called this piece of earth and sky our home.
So, while I'm truly happy to be in our own place and am so excited for all the things to come, part of me will miss all those sunrises and sunsets on the ridge. A little bit of me will miss sitting on the deck at twilight, sipping blueberry wine and watching the bats flutter. I will miss wrapping up in blankets, rushing out to stand in awe of the night sky, seeing stars fall and wishing for exactly what we have right now.
As we drove away, chasing the sunset down the driveway, I didn't look back. Instead I looked ahead into the fading light of day, wondering what to make for dinner in the place we now call home.
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