The last four months have been a time where external pressures have converged to prevent me from feeling safe in and around my home. Many days we spent inside with the blinds shut, curtains drawn. Other days we whisked out of the house, out of the neighborhood, to breathe, run wild, and laugh.
We were advised to not let our joy in our life here be stolen from us. But it was, is, difficult.
Though the troubles now seem to be dissipating, I am left with no desire to write, nor the heart to do any work in the house. Despite all the plans I have for our little bungalow, it feels suffocating staying within these walls for long. I only wish to be outside, digging in the ground, seeing my sons play in the sprinkler and pull green crab apples off the tree. Unobserved. Unbothered.
Keeping in mind M.F.K.’s admonition, I seek to live. Now.