I just don’t know how to let go of this place. I walk back toward the pond, glance toward the ancient barn, and two sand hill cranes fly silently, low above me. Back at the pond, the red-winged blackbird is fit to be tied, and hounds me all the way around the pond. The precious little pears are coming out on the pear trees. Over there is where John had the most amazing garden, he just seemed to know how to do it. Sometimes, he would take a lawn chair into the middle of it, and just sit there happily with his cowboy hat on. Hidden in the weeds by the pond is what’s left of the Monarch, at one time the sailboat of our Swallows and Amazons dreams. Upstairs in the barn is where the boys discovered the crated up model airplanes, and history was altered. How many treks did we make down to the back barn to look after the ponies and the goat? Often I was down there by the light of the moon, the barn cats were happy to see me, even if the coyotes howled.
Inside, it’s not the walls, it’s the floors. Where those little feet trod, and grew into big feet. Where projects were built. Where kittens and dogs were hugged. Some of the rooms are almost frozen in time, and it’s almost unbearable to look. And the rooms that are sort of emptied are still filled with memories, and the boxes that sit there spill over with them.
I sit here in this most silent of places and wonder. Where is home?
earth sky air 