On The Way To Possum Hollow

I’m tired.

There’s no need for more words. Those two sum up every emotion, feeling, intention, movement, hope that pulses through my body at the moment. And let’s just talk about Len’s poor back that is broken from schlepping boxes after bins, after server after screens, from one room to the other, up and down steps and then do it all again. He has these sounds that he makes when he’s about at his wit’s end, and they annoy me so. However, he is my hero so I let the sounds flow as they will . . . for now.

Moving is not for the faint of heart, especially when you’re our age. We honestly thought we were pretty amazing until the third move of the same belongings sideswiped us. And, the thing is, we have to do it at least two more times before we settle into Possum Hollow. The new house is grand. The moving part sucks.

We closed on the loan last week, and we were to begin construction on Monday. It has rained constantly since Sunday night, and I feel certain that somewhere, some thing is laughing. So, in the spirit of togetherness, I will , too. There’s a plan here, and maybe I’m not privy to it just yet. I’ll take it day by day. That’s about it.

I do get to ride to the PO every few days - to pick up the mail and to see if there’s a world out there. I pass Lake Chatuge on the way and then on my way back, I always pull off on this little graveled parking area . I get out and look at this view, and I marvel at how beautiful this world it. What story the fog tells as it climbs over one mountain and flows down the next. How lucky am I.