Right now I am playing a vintage Nina Simone record that once belonged to my grandmother, then my father and now me. I am on the downstairs of a big old Victorian house with hardwood floors, hodgepodge but loved furniture and even though it is dark and I can’t see out of the windows, I know the herb garden I dug and planted is out there. There are lilacs budding as well as more Lily of the Valley flowers than my neighbor Jeanne would care to count. She’s not a fan because they have a habit of spreading and taking over, but I’ve always fantasized about having them grow on land I tend.
The house is still and so am I. I think I hear us breathing. Me, the house and Nina. Unpacking is slow, but I’m settling in. The lilacs are tall enough to reach my bedroom window on the second floor. I need sleep, but that’s nothing new. I have a grandmother in hospice care who has become paranoid enough to think I’m stealing from her. I miss my father terribly and I’ve been a little depressed. Yet, in this moment I couldn’t be more content or feel more peaceful. This house is shelter for my spirit and a long awaited dream come true. I think it is mutual. I have fallen in love with this house and it has fallen in love with me.
A few pics of small happenings around here. You’ll have to take my word for it when it comes to the tiny feather that blew away before I could snap a photo, but if you look closely at one of the pictures, you will see the dainty blue egg shell I found the same day. The unpacking is slow, but little sections are coming together. I always hang the art and place the plants last. Finished pictures will be posted in good time.
The bouquet is the first of the season. Lily of the Valley, Violets and chive flowers.
I’ve been introduced to a poet by Liane over at enhabiten.
I want to share him too.