I am sitting in a completely unfamiliar room. If the lights were off, I wouldn't be able to find may way out of it--unless there was a fire, then I'd just (wisely) follow the blaze before me, then stop, drop and roll.
It smells weird here.
Like drywall and newness.
But it's unfamiliar smell and look is troublesome to me at the oddest of moments. Like when I'm listening for the whine of a siren, or polka music at 3 a.m.
Instead, there is silence. Space. Empty drawers. Trees. Room to grow, to change, to heal, to be and to become.
Days will give way to more familiarity. Time is a healer like that.
I am grateful we have landed safely.
Our house is finished and we just moved in, what's new with you?