Down between the polished wood floorboards
in the dank sweetness of moist ageless earth
My heart beats the rhythm of my chosen home.
I stood one August on the grassy slope by the apple tree
stared at the staccato mountain peaks looming over the roof
and claimed this piece of the world to be mine for awhile
Mine, shared with the teeming life under and above the grass that grew wild
My home, among dandelions, squirrels, skunks, junipers, apples, plums and birds
I staked my claim and began to build my world
Here.
At first we felt like outsiders
Arranging, exploring, planning
Working, returning tired to unfamiliarity
Waiting for "home" to arrive
Seven years of breathing have changed the air in the house
Breathing my breath onto the woodwork, garden paths and paint on the walls
Breathing in the breath of trees, cat, dog, bunnies, husband, grandsons
Breathing out my dreams and desires
Breathing in their gradual fulfillment
Dented, worn dining table remembers family feasts of thanks-giving
Quiet meals of mourning
Candles spilling wax in glowing darkness
Art projects dripping glue, and that little gouge mark
Gatherings of bright-eyed friends birthing plans onto paper
Annual drying of a dismayed cat after her bath
And always newspaper mornings with tea
I light a fire, straighten my favorite painting, sweep the walk again
I no longer notice the click-hum of the furnace
Backyard graves of furry beloveds nourish the new spring growth
Fox and deer know my routines as I know theirs
The earth knows my heartbeat, here in my chosen home.