there are these homes across from where I live. They aren't quite town homes. They are smallish, quasi colonial buildings all nestled together. I think there are 3 or 4 little streets making up this group of homes. Very quaint. I imagine myself in one all the time; they look bookish. Perfect for a girl, her dog, her books, a place to scribble...
The other day I mapped out my children's ages and realized it will be 14 years before my youngest finishes high school. If everyone goes the traditional route we will begin the college years in 2 years and we won't finish for 18. Some years we will have 3 in college at once. But there isn't a year in those 18 years when we don't have at least one in school. Maybe when that is all over, if there is anything left, I'll move into one of these homes.
I am always restless in the spring and the fall. And think about silly things like that. I think it is because those seasons are about transitions and I grew up moving around.
"April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixingMemory and desire, stirringDull roots with spring rain"T.S. Eliot.