Happy New Year and a special welcome to all the new subscribers. As always, thanks to everyone here, and for reading.
Last night, tucked in bed, Max said,
“What if our forest is dead?
I want to go back there.”
I was stunned, almost speechless.
We moved a year and a half ago. We hadn’t spoken of our old home in a while, at least not out loud.
Where is this coming from?
“Max, the people who live in our old house are taking care of the forest now.”
“But, I need to see it with my own eyes.”
I’d been dreaming of it lately. I’ve woken up — startled.
Where am I?
“Max, we can’t go back, but we have our memories.
Do you want to see pictures of our forest?”
“No. I want to time travel back. To see it in real life.”
I couldn’t think of what to say next. I miss our forest, too.
“Max, I understand how you feel.”
I wanted to say, I feel the same way.
Then, thankfully, holding my hand, he fell asleep.
That night, last night, I had more dreams.
About our forest. About our old home.
In the day, more thoughts come and go.
About what it means to leave a place you love.
About how long it takes to get used to a new place.
How long it takes to let go of an old one.
That it happens simultaneously; the letting go, the getting used to.
That it takes time. It takes a long time.
I try to find trees wherever I go.
There was a spectacular sunset here.
But I still miss our forest.
And apparently, so does Max.
I have pictures.
All the memories.
Sometimes it hurts to think about it.
Sometimes it just hurts too much to remember.
Don’t think about it.
But then, Max says the words we’re thinking.
Maybe it is fine to remember little bits at a time.
While we get used to the new.
While we let go of our forest.
Our forest of trees and the magic we found there.
All photos of Max and trees, except the Jan 2112 sunset, were taken at our former home in Dutchess County, in New York’s Hudson Valley.