In the spring of the year, nest-building is upper-most in a bird’s mind: it is the most important thing there is. If she picks a good place, she stands a good chance of hatching her eggs and rearing her young. If she picks a poor place, she may fail to raise a family. The female swan knew this; she knew the decision she was making was extremely important. – in The Trumpet of the Swan

Morning sun climbs the valley cut between two houses and pours through filmy finger-printed windows leaving whole hands outlined with gold.  Common sense would shut the blinds, savoring the cool darkness but, like the plants lined up along the window-shelf, I am drinking in this light, soaking up this morning, our second to last in this house. 

We have drunk this light for nearly ten years now, every morning and I wonder aloud how my plants will survive the move, but really I’m thinking of myself.  The windows in the apartment we will rent are skinny, facing only North and South, so we’ll miss the cheerful toast of sunlight greeting the sky each morning and the fond kisses farewell as she sinks off to sleep each night. 

The boards of this house, the scarred sub-floor we refinished, wail and moan as we cross them; every step a conversation.  Rocking our babies to sleep at night meant tip-toeing a well-worn path once they drifted off.  Place one foot here, lean, step carefully, and a second there, all to avoid the sounds that might lead to the need for more rocking.

This house, these windows and floors, what can I say, but that they’ve held us, like a nest and we have flourished in their confines. 

Friends, we are MOVING this Saturday, and we would love your prayers and encouragement as we continue to wait for a new “forever” home.  Thanks!