Two Homes

As the light fades, the sounds change. Instead of birds flitting through azaleas, squirrels scamper through leaves. The sound of autumn is the sound of rustling, of animals circling to find their resting places.

We humans, too, take our clues from the light. First our plants come in, then we do, too, reluctantly in the beginning but eagerly in the end. Back to these houses that are both balm and bait, which cushion our captivity with heat and comfort, with down pillows and warm baths.

Once inside, we will forget the wild world where Blue jays cry and ants crawl slowly up the pergola post. Our spirits will flag without that knowledge.

And then, one warm winter afternoon, we will sit in the sun on the top of the deck steps. We will sniff the earth again and feel stirred by the same breeze that eddies the crushed leaves. We will know then that we have two homes, and we do best when we live in both of them.