Una mañana lluviosa

It has been a long time. 
A very long time. 

Sitting here I wonder how many windows have been mine to look from in my quiet and favored hours of morning?

The rain reminds me of Costa Rica, of places too far to touch, places that leave the hands of my heart reaching, yearning. 

My writing is rusty and my fingers fumble through letters, strangers begging their pardon for the time that weighs them down. 

I uprooted my life, and I find myself standing in a shower of its pieces, bits of earth shaken from the tendrils of roots once tangled so deeply in the past. 

I live in Boone once again. 
Beautiful, familiar, ever-teaching, fulfilling, renewing, hopeful, soul-sustaning Boone. 

I gave up a job for an essentially unpaid internship. 
I left a clear path toward home for my other home. 
I interviewed, packed, and arrived in these mountains without a means of income, without a place to live. 
With my life in my car, I drove straight into uncertainty and let my feet and heart wander. 

Now I am settled, sitting on the edge of a bed in my new home. 
It's yellow and quaint with a big backyard and the biggest sunflowers eyes have ever seen in the front yard. 
My room is full of my bed, barn windows and antique furniture lovingly worn by other hands in moves that were not my own. 

It's pouring now. 
The sky's tears come crashing through the screen of my open window. 
I can't bring myself to shut it.