We bought a house. A farm, actually. After five ambivalent years, California had had enough of us, spitting us out with enough force that we landed in Ocala, Florida. We wanted to be here, but the transition was hasty and the need to safely land fifteen animals motivated us to claim a place that, while expansive, boasts a fair amount of imperfection, from our perspective anyway. It occurs to me that this expansive imperfection reveals quite a bit regarding our manner of dreaming things into being. We have spent the better part of two years putting ourselves into it, dislodging it from the deep rut of benign neglect it had wallowed in. Now, it is our own and my days are ruled by it and the needs of the four-leggeds that inhabit this space with me.
There have been long stretches of life where my self worth was determined through the lens provided by external roles. I have no such external roles, not anymore. I just have this place and these animals and the deep love of a very good man binding us all together. So, that is what I write about; a world that may seem too small and pedantic for most, yet makes my heart sing. I hope there is a part of you that can hear that song.