My brother owns seven beautiful acres of land in CT. My niece Katy and I make fairy houses when I am there, or at least did. She has grown up this last year, and yet we would go to the stream and make houses for the fairies from the natural materials, and make places for them in the woods.
When my mother died, we scattered the ashes on the land, and they danced golden in the light, and coated our skin, and we ran them up and down and all around through fairy lands and space.
We moved a great deal when I was young, and yet, I think back to the places I love, my special tree in Des Moines, the rivers and lakes where we floated and sped along in the boat my dad built in the garage. We lived on the Mississippi River, too, and there was an island in the middle, so, in the winter we could ice skate over to the island, alone, in those days. I could be alone in the winter woods.
Changing times, and there is loss and there is gain. We are more connected now, and we still need time for rivers and woods.
I could fly to Australia tomorrow, and I need time to absorb the loss before I go, and Anna welcomes me to come, and I go back and forth, here and there, and now, Greg, everywhere.