SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Giving Notice - Friday, Sept. 29, 2017
Accepting Offers - Tuesday, Sept. 26, 2017
Indian/Polish Wedding - Thursday, Sept. 21, 2017
The Builder - Wednesday, Sept. 13, 2017
Rupert Part II - Sunday, Sept. 10, 2017


Monday, Jun. 04, 2007 @ 10:13 am
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Our time in the city brings us closer together. Holding close against the rush of traffic, lights. Eating sandwiches in different suburbs, Grandmas and Moms serving strawberries. I fall asleep early, over the sound of dishes still clanking in the sink.

I'm so glad we moved.

And I've committed to another two years here. Maybe the years will pile up beneath us, and we'll have found ourselves still here in middle age.

Your mother doesn't like you being on the Island.

She moved 8 hours away from her mother too. She hated the place she grew up, cramped by the mill, the church, the gossiping girls. It seems like all her love of her home was passed into me, infused into my blood through the placenta, and now I ache for those sweet parts of orchard life. The endless hayfield. My sister got all her city love. The night, the busy city streets, and the speed of frantic blurred lust.

The nine o'clock ferry is quiet. Rain streaks diagonal down the windows, puddling on the deck. Lightening on the horizon. My head is leaning on Daniel's shoulder, his hand tracing absentmindedly down my arm.

Did you have an OK time this weekend?



Early morning snowshoe up Seymour


Friendly Jays



Simple Leg Warmer Project


Roots | Shoots