Facing the second night in our new country home, I should be unpacking, sorting, arranging or something else productive, but I don't want to.
My husband just walked by the window, gun slung over his shoulder. Not everyone approves of guns, and I am just glad that there are fewer neighbors here to protest his personal war on starlings.
Just like the starlings, I am an alien here. I feel as though I still belong in our little 407 house on South Street.
But the big yard is nice, and the kids like the pond.