The weekend was whirlwind. Family appeared from out of town, a joyous cacophony. Two young second cousins and their mother, a neice and her grandmother, my mother, all from 300+ miles away to see, touch, and taste this new world we call home.
It was lovely chaos. We feasted and met across town; they came to the cottage for the "grand tour": a simple process of standing in a particular spot and veiwing the entire living space. Two of the children put on impromptu dance recitals while Jon gave my cousin a crash course in photography. The cat even wandered out to see what the fuss was about. He quickly retreated back into the bedroom, unimpressed by children dancing like mad hatters across the tiny living room floor.
Then -poof, swish- they were gone, back to metro Atlanta, back to their normal. And here I sit, my normal the hum of space heaters, the notes of classical piano wrapping around me with comfort and a tinge of sadness.
It is lonely sometimes in the foothills of your dreams.