Space

Quarter to one. The quiet is different. The sound of cars passing outside does not carry with it the roll of the highway or the speed of the busy neighborhood surrounding. We are out of the city, outside the familiar community and narrow potholed streets. We are back contained within walls we left so many years ago. It is foreign and too close, separate but comfortable, a guest at home. I left. I left the rhythm of my little Greenwood house because I had to. Because I couldn't stay and see things not change. I packed clothes into a messenger bag and shut the door behind me. I pulled together what I knew was mine and moved it out of those walls and into boxes taped shut and put into storage. Heart aching for unfinished conversations and things left to accomplish that no longer can happen in that space. I'm adjusting. But it is strange. I'm finding stability over breakfast with supportive friends, over cups of coffee at familiar shops, in bending over my kitchen-aid carefully sifting flour into butter or separating yolks in my palms.