I'm in Vermont. Again.
It's cold. There's snow. The stars are brighter. People remain absolutely the same, although most of them seem smaller and sadly, most of the color has drained from their bodies. From outside in.
Sometimes, out in the woods it's so quiet it feels like there's cotton in my ears. I cannot believe how clean the world is when you just leave it alone.
Back in the houses I keep watching the slow, inevitable, spinning freeze-fall of those I love, but can never seem to touch.
I see time's softening of the edges & hope this means their fall won't be too painful. I cannot think of anything else to do other than hope for grace and reason.
I do not expect anything to be easy; only inevitable.
Home is not behind us, or where your mother is, or even wear you hang your hat; Home is where you need home to be, which is a trick I hope to pass on.
I look forward to next year with more faith my steps up to this point.
Seal Beach, Costa Mesa, Mt. Washington, Brooklyn, Manhattan, Westminster, Ca., or Green River, Vt. It doesn't matter. It's all the same. Colder and quieter in some places, and hotter and more expensive in others.
Out here, I noticed houses change faster than people do. People and rivers just don't change all that much, really. And I have to admit, it's always the same suitcase I keep packing, too.
As for tonight, as I return to the cabin, my headlights catch three loyal snow men standing guard outside my cabin from these and other eerie ghosts. Tonight there is nothing more that can be done except all I have. I can only wait and remember how protected I am in all this new, white, scrunchy snow.
I fear only my own inability to know joy when apparently it's right under my nose.