I was going to make the home and the two acres mine.

Now spring is here. I thought it would be a spring of planning and getting my hands dirty and working. Of feeling a connection with my grandmother, the gardener. And in the evening I would move the little knickknacks around to my liking.

But it’s not a “working toward” kind of spring. It’s a spring of connecting with forsythias in the park. It’s enjoying the Bradford pear trees everywhere—the ones on the two acres blooming the same message as the ones I pass on the road: it’s time for New. The Big Spring is mine.

The only land that is mine is the world.

Even in the dorm rooms, I had a little corner. Now I’m in a house I love that’s in the wrong place, with my husband trying to cash out. I’m a homebody, but things are wide open and temporary now.

I will just nest in the universe for the time being.

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