Moving on

It's all been too much to write

echoing in the house, a disposition

chasing flies and mice and an elusive stench

arranging, and re-arranging, our belongings and ourselves

the road oh-so-well and frequently travelled

a lull, for a season

the way, when space runs out, priorities change

what, really, is a need?

what it means to create value

not losing our shit, on the regular, every day

bears and the wilderness of home

a first snow and the softness of mossy knolls

the beauty — and equivalence — of lists and dreams