Glory of a New Morning
This morning I pulled out a fat file labelled "Essays and Story Ideas" to look for some notes I'm pretty sure only existed on a hard drive and were lost when that drive was dropped on a concrete floor. Sure enough, those notes were not in the file because I never printed out the document. But I did run across a long-forgotten scrap of paper -- its yellowed edges evincing it originated decades ago during my New York City days -- with this scrawled on it: I wish I was somewhere down south sitting on a front porch, having a cup of coffee and watching as the sun beats the morning glories into submission.
It was a fantasy easily fulfilled. It's a sunny morning here in the South, and there was still coffee in the pot, so I poured myself the second cup I sometimes allow myself, carried it out to the front porch, sat in the cushioned wicker loveseat, and watched the sun do its worst on the morning glories that grow on the picket fence and the arched trellis next to the house.
The breeze this morning is warm, yet it has just a breath of fall in it already. I'm glad I fulfilled that old fantasy because things are about to change, and not just the weather. Cindy and I have sold The Square Foot (144 Murdock Avenue) and live here now only for a few more days. Tomorrow we finish buying a new place, and by the end of September all our possessions will be in that house, and this one will be empty and awaiting the arrival of its new owners.
The new fields of stubble will not be far away, but we'll no longer be Ashevillains proper. We'll be downsized, and with downsizing will come a degree of freedom we haven't enjoyed heretofore -- freedom to travel, mostly. We'll give up our land line -- (828) 251-0733 will be defunct -- and will use our cell phones like other 21st century folks do. I'll be as readily available as ever through Facebook and email, which is accessible here on my web site if you don't already have my address on your computer. It's firstname.lastname@example.org.
So Cindy and I are by no means disappearing, just moving right along, after 28 years, to the next venue. Friends are as welcome as ever to e-visit or, preferably, really visit us in our lovely new home near the little lake pictured above. All you have to do is be in touch.