I came across this bird atop a rock. I was struck by how camouflaged she was. She had become – sitting cold and unwavering upon her perch – as round and organic as the stones surrounding her. I thought to myself how lonely she must be with only the rocks to keep her company. And it made me reflect on nests and whether somewhere quiet and dark she had feathered a space that would give her shelter and comfort during long nights. Do we become our spaces or do our spaces become us I questioned as I looked at her unblinking transfixed eyes. I reflected on the phrase, “feathering the nest” which conjured thoughts of downy softness atop twigs carefully gathered. I thought of CF and me taking possession of our new home and that we were metaphorically collecting twigs – painters and landscapers. I resolved that for the two of us our spaces become us. We feather our nest and before long a house is a home.
I am laser focused on that first evening when the boxes are unpacked, the wine is chilled and we can sit in our garden and feel that sense of being home.