After some six and a half years (can it really be?), I'll be again pulling up roots and hauling off to call a new place home. After a life time of moving every year or two, the stability of this place has been dear, so much so that leaving it behind is my biggest moving anxiety.

Come August, my commuting days are over and I'll see you at the beach.

I feel like a creature
one from some time before now
where things like drawing rooms would have existed
where I could claim a delicate constitution
and ward off stares
when I spend two hours breaking my fast.

Too much depends on pacing.