It seems to me that every time I pick up and start over, there is a period of time where I am drifting. It's coming upon two weeks since we moved back to our old stomping grounds and I think I'm starting to adjust.
For the first week, I had this feeling like I was an alien, dropped off in this quiet corner of grass and sunshine and was totally disconnected from all that was yesterday, and all that will be tomorrow. I tried to make this house look like home, to reconnect with who I am and where I am going. At first the pieces just didn't seem to fit together, off by just a hair no matter how hard I pushed on their edges.
But finally I am feeling a settling around me. As I sit here writing this, I hear the summer sound of a neighbour's lawn mower, followed by the scent of fresh cut grass- and I wonder. When was the last time I heard this? Life in a small apartment box has robbed us of those wondrous moments - the smell of the rain on the grass, the cool feel of the lawn between our toes on a hot day, the stars that rivet the night sky. I missed this. I hear the kiddos playing an intense game of hide and seek with other neighbourhood kids, see the abandoned soccer balls and sidewalk chalk in the yard and feel contentment.
I've reconnected with old friends and made new ones, spent lazy afternoons in the park sun watching all of our children splashing in the water. We've laughed and eaten and shared our yesterdays. We've gone home with the smell of summer sun in our hair and fading sunscreen between our fingers - happy. We've chased white bottomed rabbits through the grasses in the park and stood silent sentries as they moved in front of us.
The kids sleep the deep sleep of spent energy, reeking of the outdoors in the damp hair around their temples.
I may not be who I was yesterday, but as we continue to set roots in this quiet corner, I certainly look forward to who I will be tomorrow.