it is quiet where i live

August 20, 2006

It’s 12:05 AM here on the west coast; sacramento to be exact. I should be sleeping but the pharmacist who handed me the antibiotics told me to wait 30 minutes before going to bed after taking one of the pills. As I was snuggling into T shirt sheets I remembered…the pill. Less than 12 hours off the airplane, I woke up with a sore throat…So, I am sitting here thinking of home in a friend of a friend’s house, waiting…I have no idea what will happen if I don’t, so I do.

I miss my home. I don’t know at what point it became my home and not just where I live, but as I sit here 3000 miles from that place that holds my things and my family, collecting memories, I know somewhere in the past 6 years it became just that, my home. I miss my bed with it’s feathery blankets and cotton sheets. I miss my girls and my baby dog Lola. I miss my friends. I miss the papery white birch trees that mark a bend in the road ahead. I miss the signs that remind me that where I live is “a good place to live” and to “drive nice”. I miss the dirt roads, the back roads through small towns and the mountains I drive over and around each day. I miss my old hardwood floors and my drafty windows that frame sugar maples and cotton clouds. I miss the little creatures that scurry through the walls at night and the breeze that sounds the chimes outside my bedroom, the same breeze that moves through the cracked window and scrapes the night shade against the sill. I miss the smell of my old house, a house well lived in, a house where children and their beloved pets live. I miss the sanctuary of my bathroom with it’s deep bathtub. I miss the colors of my painted walls and the pictures that hang on them. I miss swimming in the lakes and walking with Lola and the girls to the White Ledges. I miss the clean air of my home town with it’s quiet charm. I miss my local pub where I know everyone and everyone knows me. Just Ingrid me. I miss my desk where my laptop sits and I sit with it, in front of a large window where a fox stood not more than three weeks ago and stared at me as I stared at him. silent and still. I miss the cool air of fall teasing me with it’s early arrival and the late summer crickets and the barking of far away dogs. I miss the coyote’s howling and the blue jay’s cawing. I miss the faded lilac and Forsythia bushes that line my side of the road and the day lilies that grow wild like dandelions among tall grass. Blackberries, blueberries, strawberries and wild grapes grow there where wild turkeys strut across my yard like kings and queens.

It is the east coast and it’s four seasons that gives my body, heart and mind a creative rhythm. It is the land that has not been robbed of it’s trees that keeps me grounded. It is the clean air that fills my lungs and keeps me well year round. It is the rebel spirit of the northeast that makes life feel full of possibilities. It is quiet where I live and I dream quiet dreams there.

It has been at least 30 minutes…i can sleep now.


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