I couldn’t let go…

Uncle Robert left me this little house and the acre on which it sits. I painted the front door hunter green right after a week of unpacking, and in my second summer here, I was planting impatiens, little salmon colored flowers, along the front walk. The day was warm and showed promise. It was still early in the morning when a man pulled into the driveway asking directions to a Spencer Road to meet a realtor there about a house for sale. He got out of his rental car and walked over to me introducing himself as Jim Danvers. I was unable to answer his question, but he wasn’t doing such a good job of leaving. I offered him a cold soda and we sat on the front stoop talking. Only, all I could think was either he should stay or I should go with him. He had a caring smile and softness in his manner. And there was something else there that I knew I couldn’t let go. There was a lull in our conversation that didn’t need filling. Finally, as I stared out at the street, I said, “You’re home, Jim.” He said, “I know.” I continued, “This isn’t the way to your destination, you know.” He took my hand asking, “Who says I’m not already there?”

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