I have lived in the same neighborhood since I first moved to Calgary. Our house sits on a quiet street where birdsong can be heard from every tree and every home has a window facing the sunset. I love where I call home, even when pieces of wood from the old fence start to float away in the wind. It is here in this neighborhood where I grew my first proper garden, it is here where I fell in love for the first time, and it is here where I learned how to find the mountains in a banjo song.
I have wept here. I have laughed here. I have skipped over puddles in rainstorms here. I have reached for the blue of the sky here. I have dreamed of standing a million miles to the west of here, but I have always wanted to come home. Here in this neighborhood, the dishes clack against the silver sink while the magpie sits on top the chimney sweep, cooing to his own echo. One day, this will all be a memory - fuzzy and fading as time itself.
I don't know where the next neighborhood will be or how it will look, but I do believe life is a biography written by you and edited by circumstance. Where there is soil, I will grow a garden. Where there is a stove, I will cook a warm meal. Where there is a tree, I will listen for the birds. Where there is a bed, I will sleep in it when the moon shows and rise with the morning in a place called home.
outfit details: yoyo melody sweater & leggings, nanton thriftstore boots