I don’t know whether I should become a nomad or remain in a sturdy old house.
This house has been my solace since my divorce in 2011. It embraced me protectively and helped me heal.
Colors Of The Sky:
Right now the sky is the color of smoke. A paler shade of gray.
It has been cold all day. For once there is not a whisper of wind. The branches are still as statues in their bareness.
Occasionally there is the sound of a car driving past.
A Time Of Restlessness:
It is 4 p.m. When my kids were young, that was always the worst time of day. Too late for a snack, too early for supper.
The dogs seem to get restless at this particular time as well.
Charlie drifts aimlessly through the house. He seems not to know what he wants or where to go.
Now he’s on the top of the couch, staring out. Hoping, I’m sure, for someone to walk past. A squirrel to run across the grass. Something to happen.
A barkable moment.
Feeling Odd On This Day:
I feel at odds today.
Maybe with Christmas drawing near I am just feeling that old familiar feeling. The one that often hits people this time of year.
A bit of melancholy.
Melancholy. Isn’t that a pretty word?
It’s funny how some pretty words don’t conjure up pretty things?
I look at melancholy as the first phase of sadness. Melancholy is just the beginning of the winding road that leads you somewhere.
I seem to find myself driving down that winding road come wintertime.
I have never been a wanderer. A nomad. I have never wanted to do lots of traveling.
Should I Hit The Open Road:
For the past few days I’ve been playing with the idea of what it would be like to hit the open road.
To save up and buy one of those vintage trailers, and then the dogs and I would take to the road.
We’d live and sleep in our little home of tin.
Where Do I Belong:
Still, I don’t know quite where I belong, where I should go. Whether it is to sun-filled states with vast oceans. Or places filled with trees and mountains.
Do I want to be a nomad or remain in a sturdy old house?
I am at the age when I know if I don’t start living a dream, then soon it will be too late.
That I’m getting to a point in time when dreams will soon be things I merely think about.
A Dose Of Regret:
With a dose of regret. And a bit of melancholy.
Every day I take to the open road of the internet and search for new places, different climates. Picturesque villages in faraway places.
I wonder if I picked myself up and placed myself there if I would know for sure that that’s where I belonged. If the feeling of belonging would fill my every pore.
It would be nice to know, for certain sure, that that’s where I was meant to be.