The Land, Redux.

Husband and I will be looking for our own place in a few months - say, around March. We will probably not get a place with land.

The idea of moving into some just-off-the-highway rent-a-box with no woods around or near it makes me grieve. For years, now, I've lived in actual houses, mostly suburbs with a decent amount of flora and fauna. But I suspect that wherever we end up, there will be no raccoons in the yard, no owls in the trees, no Land. No more watching the stars fade out after sending the Husband off to work.

I keep praying for a trailer on some land where I can keep the horse and my dog; a little patch that we can rent from decent landlords where I can garden and engage in the kind of outdoor witchery that I'm accustomed to, i.e., the kind that isn't well-suited to a little patio in full view of the neighbors. Maybe a rent-to-own.

I keep telling myself that the Husband said, just a few days ago, that I have proven myself to be very resourceful. If I am, then surely the Gods are even moreso, and They see what I do not.

I keep going, no matter how much I want to jump up and down, shaking my fists at the sky, yelling, "WHAT EXACTLY AM I SUPPOSED TO LEARN BY BEING 41, IMPOVERISHED, DRAGGING THE POOR HUSBAND WITH ME THROUGH ALL THIS, AND GETTING THE SLATS KNOCKED BACK OUT FROM UNDER ME EVERY TIME I THINK IT'S FINALLY OK TO RELAX AND FEEL SAFE? HUH? I WANT ANSWERS, DAMMNIT!!!"

Time to spend some of this weekend at the altar, I think. There are answers, and I need to find out what they are.