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This past week or so, as I have gone about busily sorting and packing, and not sorting and packing while feeling guilty that I wasn’t sorting and packing, I have paused and declared, out loud, something that I will miss when I move from The Pound. This exercise in recognizing and naming the soon-to-be-missed thing is intentional.

In the past, I have sometimes been broadsided by missing some thing that used to be, or that I used to have or experience, but never gave a second thought to. Particular things that enriched my life, or filled the corners, or added a splash of color or spice to an everyday moment. In the past, I did not realize that a place had become more my home than a faraway place that I had been pining away for, until after I had moved back to the pines. Some of that is the grass is always greener syndrome and some of it is simply not paying attention. And then missing what I already missed while living the other day that got away.

Not this time.

Don’t get me wrong. There are many things here at The Pound that I most certainly will not miss and earnestly wish that I had never experienced in the first place. Take the drafty cold that is more like a measurable breeze that blows through the humble space in the Almost Always Winter, garage style heater/blower for source of warmth, or the lack of a kitchen. Okay. I will stop now. Now where was I?

Oh, yes. The things that I recognize that I will miss once I run move from my current humble abode. Like the moose mama and her twins. Twins seem to run in her family as she has had three sets since I have lived here. In fact, one of last year’s moose calves is munching down on the trees right outside my window even while I write about her. Looking healthy, looking good. I feel honored and blessed by your visit Miss Moose.

I will also miss the humble abode’s windows. Plentiful and big. I watched the deciduous trees bud leafy green in the spring and summer, and then blaze gold and orange in the fall. I spied beautiful firework displays lighting up the sky through these windows. I watched countless snowflakes fall on the trees and ground. I gazed, glanced, and stared through these window panes a good number of hours.

Appreciation. Sooner than later.

March 2011
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