More rain than one could imagine. Barrelsful. Then a pause. Snow. Not accumulating to much along seacoast New England. That's how I like it. It's dreaming weather. Those times you get deep into your luscious history.
Louise has been in my dream lately. She lived on Drury Lane. In second grade, she drew pictures of horses. One she named after her street in Baltimore. It was Louise who made me want to draw. Horses. And I got quite good at it. I wonder how Louise is today. She was just so nice.
Nice. It's quite a word. I am remembering all the nice people in my life. The dreamers, too. I was one of the daydreamers in school. Lifelong. But I got to live one of mine beginning in the late 1990s. After the marriage had completed, and I was a bird out of a cage, my heart opened to more possibilities. This time it would be solo. I might partner but I wouldn't marry. Now.
I've often written about the Smokies. That beautiful spot in your mind that you just can't imagine it could be a real place. Only when you fly over it you know the truth. It is more than real. Maybe that is why it is the most visited of the national parks. It also became my home.
My home was on the side of a mountain. I don't know that there is a name for it. Most of the mountains in the area are named. Mule Pen Mountain stands in front of my porch. I do know it is one of the very best things I have ever done for myself. It's a mere 1.49 acres of heavily forested land. For sale. The place that in time, became a retreat. A preserve. Every imaginable forest animal traversed the land. They knew they were safe. I was more than safe. I was home.
But circumstances change and it was time for another adventure. Leaving it was bittersweet. The loneliness became intolerable after I unpartnered. Again by choice. Partners can be fun if they grow with you. Some can't and need to continue their own adventure. You have more to experience.
After I found a suitable place to dwell in seacoast New Hampshire, it was time to pack up my things. I couldn't leave the mountains fast enough. Not so much because I wanted to, but because the pain of doing so was unbearable. How could I leave this place that gave so much to me? So much to a woman whose heart was broken. So much joy, so many memories. A history that was my choosing. A place that will always be in my heart. And more gratitude that anyone can imagine.
Sometimes I want desperately to return. But then, I would have to leave it. Maybe it is better not to visit. It's a very long drive. Eighteen hours by car. This experience of leaving a beloved home is foreign to me. I have always returned to every home, every state I have lived in. More than once. But this place is in my heart. Deeply. I have a few close friends there. They understand. I yearn to see them. To know they are okay. But I also know they will soon begin their own journeys. Away. Their hearts yearn to explore, too.
My heart was on the side of a mountain. For eleven years. I was home.
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