Changing Weather

I woke up about 4:30 this morning to thunder and lighting outside my bedroom window. When I was a kid, I used to think thunder was the crack of a bullwhip wielded by some giant cowboy that lived above the clouds. The low rumbles were the hooves of the herds of cattle he chased across the sky. Such is the imagination of a five-year-old in West Texas. Today the sky is blue enough to make me wonder if I imagined it all. I am vexed by my writing lately. I've been getting things out in sharp pieces, like shards of glass. It's uncomfortable and unnatural to me, as I am used to working at a much more fluid pace. I suppose time will tell whether this new development ends up being a good or bad thing. I think it's probably a symptom of having so many things going on at once. Moving is looming large now and I'm going to have to start packing soon. I'm going to miss this house so much. I look around and shudder when I think of someone just coming in and painting over walls that I worked on for six months. I'm sure that's the first of many lessons in letting go I'm going to have to get through. I'm trying to keep a level head about the new house, but it's hard. I keep picturing vegetable and flower gardens, fruit trees (even though I don't even know what I can grow up there...do pecans grow in the north?). I picture a house busy with the bustle of kids and family. Family. I don't think the word has ever had such significance to me as it does now.