Moving on

The dirty deed is done ~ literally and figuratively. I’ve moved from the place I called home for seven years. Left behind is the little house with the huge trees and the rumbling of trains. No more train car changes in the middle of the night that shook the house. That noise has been replaced by the occasional distant sound of a train whistle announcing the approach to Danbury, Texas. The sounds of my neighbors ~ a herd of rescued donkeys and a few horses ~ along with the noise of the tractors traveling the roads to the hay and rice fields were distractions as I attempted to stay focused and place things in my new house, trying to make it a home.