Saturday, May 12, 2012

A Hike At Dusk

The chaos that was our life before coming to Moraine sometimes haunts me. 

If I sit at one end of the house and all of the doors are open and D is sitting in just the right spot on the other side of the house, I can see him - but he can't see me see him.  These are the quiet moments when I am the most in love with him.  I get to watch him play with our sons.  Sometimes he folds the laundry.  He does it very carefully and I like to watch him.  Sometimes he is eating or playing chess with Big brother.  Big brother taught us how to play. He uses his own rules, but we follow them anyway.  little brother has only visited our old home once.  Sometimes D and I talk about it, but neither of us misses it. Neither us felt like it was home.  Both of us sleep better now.  Sounds don't travel well at our home on Moraine. Everything echoed at our old home. The floors creaked and sound bounced all around, there was always so much racket - cabinets, traffic, neighbors, water from somewhere, a machine, a mower.  I think the love absorbs the sounds here, and I feel warmer. Sometimes my memories from the old house are without a background because I want to forget where it happened, but remember that it happened.  Sometimes I hear a song and I remember playing it with D at our old home.  It muddles the music for me.  I try to forget. 

There is so much here to make you feel in love.  The air is damp and the humus is thick in the forested parts.  It insulates your voice so much that sometimes it's as if you're whispering.  There is life everywhere, and it is always changing. I have everything that D promised me when we were married, and I really could never ask for one thing more. I never feel as sad as I once did. It's impossible here. When sadness creeps in, it is because I am remembering bad memories.  All I need to do is look across the house, at a man who never lets my love slip through his hands.


If it's the beaches



 If it's the beaches' sands you want




 Then you will have them
 



If it's the mountains' bending rivers



Then you will have them
 


If it's the wish to run away


 Then I will grant it


Take whatever you think of



 While I go gas up the truck




 Pack the old love letters up



We will read them when
we forget why we left here


-S
"if it's the beaches" - the avett brothers

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