I just can’t help myself.

This house has been all blessing.

Despite the high cost of heating it this mild winter.

Despite the plastic covering some of the windows, the paint chipping at every corner and the mismatched stairwells and moldings and door frames.

Despite the one bath tub and the small hot water heater and the sloping floor in the dining room.

Despite all that.

Maybe it’s the spring talking.

The incredible bursts of colors blooming in our yard that distract me from work and school.

Or the pollen that has overtaken my senses.

Made me all woozy and sentimental and I don’t know what else.

(Kevin and I both cried while watching a movie last night.  And my eyes fill near to pouring out when I stare too long at Hawkeye, who lately, with his mop of shaggy hair, looks older than he ever has, and mature somehow that I cannot explain and he fills my heart with joy and sadness and love and bittersweetness.  This is a normal side effect of mothering – right?)

Something about these days finds me with pen in hand, notebook in lap and poetry oozing from my fingertips.

It’s not even always good poetry, necessarily, it’s just that it seems as if the only way to attempt to capture these ephemeral moments in which I am currently living is with short words, succinct and visual.

And here was last week’s . . . . . . .

____

The porch is leaning

and the paint is chipping.

It cannot last forever.

(But neither can we.)

The light is fading.

Wednesday dinner on the sloping porch.

Red tablecloth with Christmas intentions.

A streak of pink across the horizon

and the sounds of the day blending –

birds, dogs, cars, kids, neighbors.

Nothing.

Everything.

Mismatched chairs that served former lives as the first string.

The paint stains and the pitted holes on the table are draped with the red

but I remember their slope and their origin.

And I breathe in this moment

and this house

and all I feel is

grateful.

My heart echoes what my eight-year-old says:

“This house feels like the house we should have lived in all of our lives.”