Longing

I sometimes long for my old house, the comfy chair on the porch, the french doors that connected rooms to rooms and also went out to the garden. I long for a red wheel-barrow in the sun. I long for the shade trees, Dutchman’s pipe on the trellis and ferns along the walk. In some ways it feels like I never left that reality and I should be able to step through a portal and all would be as it was.