The other night I laid on the floor and listened to the quiet. It was after an ill-fitting refrigerator had been delivered (then outcast to the garage), after my roommate and I moved all of our life possessions into our new home, after we'd run errands and dropped a friend off at his home, it was after pizza and cough-medicine tasting beverages were drunk, after laughter was had and new friends were made. After all of that, I laid in the quiet and listened to night birds putting themselves to sleep.

And I felt at home.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not negating everything I've said before. Just saying that after a month on the road, this soul was ready to rest itself in a place all its own. I slept harder that night than I've slept in a month--it was lovely, thanks for asking.

Today I drove to pick up a friend from up north who was in town for the weekend. We met up with two other friends from the north and climbed on rocks at Grapevine Lake. When I dropped our friend off at the airport and turned my car around, still sporting its New York plates, and drove toward home, I felt it. I felt at home. Like, yeah. I'm from the north, but I live here now. In this place. For now.

We went garage saling today and found a pedestal table sitting in someone's driveway. I was right, it's not a replica of the one I love so much from home, not as pretty, not as filled with character, but it's ours and it sits on our backporch with lit candles and a soon to be hung hammock. I think that porch will soon feel like home.

Meanwhile my plants are still sadly faring---it is strange how though we bloom where we're planted, even when we take our roots with us there's still a little dying to be had. My plants teach me this. Among other things.

This is nothing really; I just had a inkling of signals from the neighbors wireless and so I thought to tell you that it's okay, I'm home now.