So much is changing. Home is nowhere and nowhere is really settling. Even moving on and moving in means someday moving out and moving off. Can't stay one place too long; don't put down roots anywhere; This world is not my home. Why, when one longs just for a home, is that the one thing which is denied the pleasure of. An ascetic distaining nod in my direction 'She'll learn someday' is the constant wagging tongue, as if I haven't already? Nobody said it would be easy, and this is suppose to be my consolation prize? The satisfaction of nobody being right for once?
The first half of my room is empty, evidence of the first to leave. Soon the chocolate brown bedroom upstairs will vacate and then the china blue and white one will be still. Soon after that I will once again leave a green painted haven for the second time this year. I picked green because it reminds me of home. Not home in the literal sense, but the abstract [if there is anything abstract about home]. Green feels like home. It feels like growth and sometimes pain, but it always feels right. Anne Shirley knew that. She headed to her green gables. Adam and Eve knew that, otherwise it wouldn't have hurt so badly to leave Eden. Even the Jolly Giant knows that he looks better in Green.
The house I grew up in was green and the house I left last winter had a kelly green roof which could be seen several miles from the north or south on US State Route 11. "Look for the green roof" I always told people.
