i’m getting to that point in moving where the lighting feels funny and voices echo uncomfortably around the spaces. my apartment is transitioning from being mine to being another’s. i feel the energy shift, the warmth of home draining away, dripping into boxes of things to be opened in the next place i’ll call home. the same things in different places – but its never quite the same.
good or bad, every home i’ve had has been an entity unto itself. there was my first apartment, the top floor of an old, creepy, crumbling house, across the street from george washington’s headquarters. there was my apartment in the basement of a building, with that distinct ’something is illegal here’ feel. i lived for two year’s in a friend’s house, a place he had rebuilt before moving in. my favorite residence was the hippie hut, the first floor of a two family house on a busy suburban street in new jersey.
the timeline of my life is marked by the places i’ve lived. each place had it’s own spirit, it’s own breath. the walls that have known me have seen my secrets, have felt the bang of my fists and heard my moans of pleasure. the places i’ve lives have become part of me, intricately woven in to the events and emotions in my life. a song, a scent, a certain breeze can bring these memories flooding back, and i dance through all my kitchens in a single thought.
the idea of home settles thickly in my head. i know i have wandered too much, rolling around to avoid the moss. but i also know that, while the walls are fleeting, the photos on the walls are forever. i hold my memories tight and keep the pictures clear. the truth is, home is wherever i land, and every place i’ve ever been.
Filed under: prose
last weekend, i escaped to the white mountains. i took my boots, my camera, my boyfriend, and my ever-present brown moleskin notebook, and took off in the snow, aimed north. we drove and smoked and laughed and blasted good tunes. we arrived at our cabin, met up with our friends, made a fire, and drank long into the night, laughing over board games.
we ate good food, smoked mediocre weed, didn’t sleep well, stepped carefully around the ice and snow. we played with the fireplace, talked philosophy, ate junk food and saw fireworks.
we took a short hike on a snow covered trail that ran along the river. it was a beautiful saturday, cold and sunny. we followed the packed paths from skiers and snowshoers before us, being careful not to fall into the knee-deep edges. we hopped across streams, and stopped at the edge of the river. we stood on rocks, took pictures, talked, planned future hikes, soaked in the sunshine.
i wandered away from my friends, and i stood on rocks in the middle of the pemi river. i breathed in the mountain air, so crisp it felt like the icy water below me. i took off my hat, let it dangle around my neck by it’s string, and listened. i took in the rushing of the water, the power of the river crashing over, around, between snow capped rocks. i looked downstream, where the river ran on forever and a stately mountain loomed – seeing, watching, protecting. i froze myself there, copied every detail into my memory.
the moment at the river, the weekend in the mountains, cleansed me, fulfilled a longing i wasn’t even aware i had. spring is nearing, the long, dark winter is receding. i have been reminded of the beauty and the power of the earth.
