Tag Archive: Story


Sunday mornings are always quiet in Uptown.  The business folk are home and the more playful bunch is sleeping off the night before; few people, if any, walk the streets.  This morning is no exception – except it is quieter.  And an eerie haze filters sunlight between buildings, casting odd shadows everywhere.  While walking Celli, I imagine I have slept through an alien invasion.  As I walk along the vacant tracks of the light rail, past abandoned construction equipment and vacant parking-lots, I can hear the voice of a man who has witnessed the terror.  He calls from the balcony of the Arlington, “What are you doing?  Get off the street; they’re coming, they’re coming!”  I see movement through the chain-link fence that separates our building from the site of the future condo development, but I think it is only my imagination.  Really, it’s the multi-dimensional space invaders, but it will be too late before I realize.  

So, that’s how I began my day – imaging an exciting, albeit morbid adventure that could be at any moment, and yet remains far enough away from reality, that I can still enjoy my peaceful morning walk.

Advertisements

Four years doesn’t seem all that long, except for that time Bush was elected to office or my first day of High School.  For four years, we’ve lived in this house. And in that time, we’ve made it home.

This wasn’t our first house, but it has most definitely been that warm, comforting sanctuary most associate with home. Our youngest child was born upstairs. I fell ill here, but I became whole again thanks to the peaceful energy permeating this place. Healing Tree was founded here. Our first solstice tree is planted out front. And the grand old maple out back offered shade and drew lace in her silhouette under many a full moon in her leaf-less winter brilliance.

Four years of growing up and now finding ourselves at the threshold of a new experience outside these walls. Oh, the tangled web of emotions! I used to think that only an old house held secrets, memories and its own stories, but as I fell tearfully asleep last night, thinking about the first time I looked out at the maple from our bedroom window, I whispered to the walls, “Will you remember us? Will you keep a part of our story?”

The winter wind blew hard against her siding and I heard a sound akin to a soft sigh or breath letting go.