home

We have a home. It’s not too big, not too small, with just the right number of rooms.

If you stand in the center of the house and face west, you will see the entire valley rolled out before you. At night, our city twinkles. In spring, the storm clouds approach in full view. I do not yet know what the rest of the seasons will bring. Summer will be upon us, soon.

Facing east, your gaze will stretch a shorter distance. The garden and the pool distract your eyes before you look beyond … then up … up to one of Grandeur Peak’s shoulders. You may see the tiny silhouette of a hiker and his dog at the crest. You may feel the gentle tug of nature calling you out and up.

When I look at Grandeur today, I am overwhelmed by what a gift this city has been to me. My first hike was up Millcreek Canyon, up the east side of Grandeur. My love proposed to me at the trail head on the west face. And now. Now we are Grandeur’s neighbours.

It is easy to be distracted by the outside, while you stand in our home. It is rather empty inside for the time being; that is, there is no furniture. There are memories here, though. They are not my memories, but I can feel them. I hear children laughing at dad-jokes here. I see parents loving each other. I see non-parents loving each other. I know people broke things and fixed things here. Families argued, and then made up. I feel the dreams they dreamed.

Our home is full of other people’s memories.

As we stand in the center of the house, I hear its heart beating, and I know there is room for more: more love, more laughter, more dreams.

Our home is waiting to house our memories.