Onward, we are.
In a twist of fate, we're Seattle-bound next month. (And pretty over the moon. I can't even start.) Denver has been our wonderful (friendly, sunny, beautiful) home the last four years. We've begun to box up our life here, sifting, piling things into cardboard squares, all of them feeling the full weight of belongings. And memory, too.
Colorado will always be: the place with our first apartment, where Archibald came to us, three hundred days of sunshine a year, where I finally bought a puff coat and snow boots. We set out on our own here, just us two with a beagle napping in the backseat. Untethered to any history.
It's funny because going home feels a bit like returning...but also, not. Surprisingly not. Almost jarring how little it does. We're not going back to a life; maybe elements of one -- the moody sea, brothers, sisters, mothers...where the buildings of our high school and college stand amidst the evergreens and water, our friends. But mostly it's a new one.
And I can hardly wait.
The sea-taste is in my lungs.