Home Sweet Alone

Moving.

The trauma of a residential move can be stunningly taxing. It can also be enormously enlightening, providing new perspectives one didn’t even realize existed.

Moved.

My body, mind, desires and fears have all moved to different places and priorities. My pile of crap stuffed into boxes has decreased in volume with each new apartment. Thankfully. My landscape of business and play has shifted to a slightly different level and now I’m adjusting to this new awakening.

Static.

It’s been difficult to write coherently, this uneasiness of creativity is brutal. The words churn in my head and every moment I’m either on the clock or walking the street, they bloom into beautiful sentences that fill my head, fall from my lips but tragically not onto paper or qwerty.

Stellar.

Requiem for the Macleay found in these new trees and refreshing creeks resets myself in the hallows of a strangely amazing suburb, doing wonders for my blood and being. With nearly every woodsy road leading to my house being uncharted, winding, leafy and dangerous, I suddenly cannot imagine living this charmed life any other way.

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