. . .
My friend Sue W. replied to my email about moving to a new house by saying, how could I go through it again? She hates moving.
Well, I don't enjoy it much myself, but John has promised that he'll use paid labor to do most of it, so I hope we'll get through it in relative comfort.
The fact is, it's where I want to die. In this house, I feel somewhat trapped; it's nice, but I can't just go out and sit on the deck or in the backyard and feel serene. I've enjoyed it here, planting my little herb garden, and walking up to see the animals at the farm, but I've never felt that kind of peace here. The sound of the rushing water, the view of the trees coming up from the brook below, the screened porch from which I can watch the birds at the feeders--they all make the Portland house feel totally different. I think the meetings I've had with Pat there, learning what she has to teach, and feeling her loving support, have something to do with it as well.
'Let me go, boys,
.Let me go, boys
.Let me go down in the mud
.Where the rivers all run dry.'
May
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