Like most small towns, we have one main street. Not one Main St, but one big street where the bulk of the businesses and shops and restaurants are located. Ours sits on a long sloop of a hill and my house is up at the top. Any time I get in my car to go somewhere, over the crest of the hill I am greeted by the sight of the downtown laid out before me with a large lake and small mountains framing the distant background. To say I live in the middle of a postcard is under selling it.
As much as I love that morning view, it’s the evening one that really gets to me. The sun sinks below the mountain range and the sky lights up with purples, oranges, pinks and yellows. The business lights and the car lights turn my idyllic home into an electric show of advertising and rushes to get home. It’s actually beautiful.
I sit in my house with the deep orange shutters at the top of the hill. I clean, I play with my dogs, I write stories. I sew costumes for us for Halloween and make vests and dresses for formal occasions. I cook. I bake. I run the house. I search for jobs outside the house on the hill, but it’s the one I have inside that I love.