of ceilings, not stars

 Lately, I've been thinking about space: what it takes to make a good one. What is a room, what are walls? Can we moralize a building? And, does it matter where I put my desk? Time will tell, I suppose. Re-do the floors and paint the tired ceiling, but this is still home. Or is it? Here, on this matter, I am split.

If two roads diverge in a shadowed heart, home can not be, if the heart is not in one place. So maybe home is the spot where our roads meet; all those tumbling hills and murky ditches, steep valleys, mountains, and persistently gracious resting places. Any path we walk (or tumbling hill or windy plain) becomes our own. We always belong where we are now, and where we will be tomorrow.

Ah, but what of these walls? What of these windows? The sky looks in, taunting bigger rooms, better views and quieter neighbors. The breeze believes me when I say I might be finished, but my heart....ah, my heart is a shadowed wood, full of confusing faces, telling me to stay and go. Though I know which road will win (and happily so), I still walk with hesitation; I know the other road lingers, full of the well-meaning anti-gracious.

I have been thinking lately about space, and what it takes to make a good one. The more I look, the more I find the best spaces are the ones we carve out for ourselves. If we can both work, and unwind, then the walls are rightly placed. They may not fit the onlookers, but they fit the innards, and are home.