poppies in the windowsill

Hard to believe that it has been almost two years since I left my little house by the river in Illinois. Almost two years since I played music in a live concert. Almost two years since I have heard peacocks crying in my backyard. Almost two years since I decided I would leave the river and live among the corn.

Time to take stock. What has changed? What has stayed the same? Am I the person I wanted to be two years ago? Then again, is that even a fair question? How can we know what the future brings or who we would be able to be, who we would want to be in two years time?

Strangely, when I think back to my time at college, I don't see me living in the house I rented senior year, or the dormroom I shared for about 9 months with two other people. I see myself in the room I was in for the shortest amount of time, only about 3 months: the tiny single in the farthest corner of the first floor, so small I couldn't unloft the bed, so tiny that I only had one chair and nowhere else to sit. No tv, no couch, a used cd player, nothing much except my desk, my computer, a continuous pile of books, always a stack of cds waiting to be listened to, a dirty tea mug waiting to be washed. And 3 big windows so I could hear the spring thunderstorms, smell the rain. A big tree right outside and I tried to grow poppies in the windowsill.