The next thought after admiring the handiwork was that it still didn't look right. Something was missing. Uneasiness crept in. What the hell? I couldn't shake that feeling.
It took three days for it to dawn on me...
It wasn't the landscape that I had become accustomed to seeing every day. That landscape looked more like this:
It has now been two weeks since those thoughts entered my head. Two weeks of rolling up on that beautiful, almost finished front yard and feeling uneasy, as if something in the universe was badly skewed.
I have managed to function, going to work, eating the occasional meal, having some meaningful adult conversation, all the while knowing that my front yard didn't look that good to me anymore. Sounds strange, doesn't it?
I've had a love affair with landscapes for as long as I can remember. If the earth and the sky in a particular longitude and latitude speak to me...if it calls me....then I know. I can live here. I can call this home for a little while. I am grateful when this happens because my soul is rather gypsy-like and I don't love that many places.
I have grown tired of the noise of my big small town. Ready to be quiet. I'm ready to walk the hills and climb the rocks and hang over cliffs. I'm ready to survey the land and bury my fingers (and trowel) in the dirt. Connect with the history of the people who came before me. I'm ready.
I know my time in Tucson is not quite done. I will start another landscaping project to occupy my mind. Perhaps this trick will put a band-aid on my wild, wandering heart just a little longer.
It is, after all, about the landscape.
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