the difference between the old house and the new one

I’m hunkered down inside. It’s pitch dark out there. I’m cozy as can be.

I can hear the blustering wind, things are flying through the air occasionally hitting the house, and the rain is attacking the roof with steady determination.

My sign hanging next to the front door was banging incessantly against the house and just like in the cabin, I had to go outside and take it down for the duration of the storm.

When I opened the door, I was hit with the smell of sage and the thrill of rain in the desert, and I realized that I’d been clenched up on the couch, unconsciously and viscerally preparing myself for a foot of snow come sunrise.

If I play my cards right, that will never be my reality again.

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