The day our sale went through on that house - the one we had longed for, we were here in California. We both looked at the clock at about the time we knew the paperwork was signed and the keys were being handed over. We were ever so thankful to have sold our home, but the tears came - for both of us.
It's not the house that makes the home, it's the people in it. It's not the four walls or the color of the paint. It's not the yard. You can always love another house. Oh, but I loved that house. I loved waking up at dawn on a cold wintry morning and standing at the kitchen window watching the steam rise from the pond with a cup of coffee in my hands and the warm air from the vent warming my toes. I loved the crab apple tree next to the deck that changed with the seasons - flowers in the spring, green in the summer, orange berries in the fall that turned to red in the winter contrasting with the white of the snow that covered its branches. I loved the play structure. I loved the basement. I loved the family room - oh the family room with its big arched windows and sunny feel. I loved the view of the sunrise each morning.
The realization that I'd never call that house mine again caused a bit of anguish.
The boxes aren't unpacked completely here, but it is starting to feel more like home each day. The sun pours in my kitchen here too. It filters through the eucalyptus tree. On the other side of the house I can see mountains. Those mountains are over an hour away, but there they are towering in the distance. Through my living room window I can see rolling hills, huge rolling hills. Our yard has jade plants that are coming to life now that we're getting a bit more rain than when we first arrived.
In the mornings I sneak out to the kitchen before the kids have awakened and I brew coffee. I walk out of the kitchen and take the two steps down into my new family room. I look out - out the beautiful big windows and as each day passes I smile more. Our new house - the house on the hill. It really is beautiful here.