Receding, Re-needing

You might think that I was making this up, but it's true: Yesterday, as we drove my parents around our new campus, new town, we passed a woman with a cello strapped to her back. I've seen cellists carry their instruments like backpacks before. (Indeed, I've done it myself.) But I'd never seen an electric, canary yellow case like hers.

"Yellow Cello," whispered Adam. I felt the corners of my lips turn up, but with only the vague comprehension of someone coming out of a dream. It's criminal, how happy we've been in this new state, this new home.

A lot has happened in the last three weeks. Packed the house, emptied the house, moved the house. Drove through the night. Woke up smiling in a new place. Hugged a lot. Cooked a lot. Grown accustomed to the bugs. Grown accustomed to the sloping floors. Welcomed guests. Blessed the past.

Time again to write.