The city wakes, traffic passes by on the street outside, their tires on the wet street adding to the tinkling of light rain coming down the metal downspout. A noreaster, the first of the year arrived on the last day of my honeymoon bringing the urge to write. I left the dream and stepped into a swirl of thought about (re)decorating the house, the garden, our shared cookbooks that now need more bookshelves, packing to go home, Matthew Sheppard’s memorial service, Dawoud Bey’s photography, walking through the streets of DC and the streets of Paris. I think about my simple life, my home, my day-to-day flow and while I love the City (any city), I prefer the openness of my home. The quiet, the moonrise, the stars, the hoot of owls, the caw of the crows and the Bob White calls of the quails. The rotund squirrels foraging around the National Mall preparing for the coming snow impressed, their portly, chubbiness adorable. The ground nesting of the rust-breasted birds was curious and we guessed they are orioles. But we miss our place, our bed, our simple luxuries, our dogs. And it is time to step into this new life.
Does it feel different? To be married? It is different. Maybe we should have the capacity to be less self-centered and self-motivated while still single but the marriage vow demands one think of the other. To place the other in your perspective and consider them. Their presence matters. And that is the point, right? To be present. For the other. To see them and to be seen. To be kind and generous and helpful. To offer support and to make room. To find another person with whom you want to BE HERE with no matter where here might be, it the great blessing. And while he softly snores, I find my voice and quietly write listening to the gentle rain and the waking city. And I dream of going home with him,