|Enjoying the warmth of a fire in my wood stove on a rainy evening|
Life is overfull with things to do, ideas to mull over, thoughts to follow to their never-end, adventures to be had, dreams to turn into reality. Bored? Never.
But a bit of routine ... now, that would be sweet. All things in balance. There has been so much newness in my life the last three or so weeks. So much, too much, constant stream. So finally I am feeling the very first edges of routine seeping in.
Z Acres felt like Home with a capital H the very first night I spent there, the night of March 26. Now, about three weeks later, I am starting to feel the cozy comfort of knowing just where everything is. I reach ... and my hand finds it. I am starting to move at a pace that fits my new life, my new space. I am sensing the beginnings of new habit. And it's nice.
This past Friday, as I worked away at my farmhouse, the sky turned gray and cloudy, winds picked up, temperatures dropped, and the rain began.
It can't always be sunshine. It can't always be super exciting. It can't always be fireworks. And really, it shouldn't be.
Time for all seasons, you know. There's a reason for that. If all was sunshine all the time, people would hanker for rain. Change can be good, but not all the time. We need some of this, we need some of that, we need a little of everything, in its own good time.
I was ready for the new, and oh there was so much of it, and oh it was all so wonderful! And still is. I still can't believe where I am, my new life taking shape around me, and how perfect it is for me. I've come into my own. I have found my place, and it fits me. I wake up in the morning and look for the light in the window, slip into my slippers, and go stand at the window to look out over the reflection of morning sun in the pond below. I stand at the window on the other side of the room, and I see the toolshed below, the rock-lined flowerbeds, the long rectangular space where my summer garden will be, and the stretch of green land.
Every morning, I am grateful, and I say thank you to that power above.
Every evening, I say it again.
Every time, I mean it. With every amazed fiber in me.
But it's also been a lot to take in, much to learn, and I am sure I have gone up and down those stairs that lead down to my little red farmhouse, oh at least a hundred times. I am ready for the routine of being here, even as my gratitude doesn't lose its edge.
I am ready for the rain to fall. I stoke up the fire in the wood stove and listen to it rain. I can hear the wind tangle in the trees outside. I love a rainy day, and I love a good storm. I love the change, and I love the everyday. I love the new, and I love the comfort of feeling the new grow old and known and cozy.
I love the direction my life is taking.
I slip into my slippers in the morning, make my way downstairs, almost tripping over the dog but not quite, because by now I know just where he will be at the top of the stairs, his new favorite patrol spot. I let him outside while I make the coffee, and he goes out without a leash, a free dog, free to go wherever he pleases, and he always comes home.
We both know where we have it good. And it never gets old; it will never be boring to be Home. It will just come to know our step, as a house become Home does, even as we get to know its quirks and niches and creaks. Home and Owner, rain or shine, right where we belong.