Saturday, July 18, 2009
Pizza and Rain
So this is, perhaps, the last time we'll snuggle up together during a thunderstorm eating Valentino's primo pizza. I don't think we'll ever find another pizza like they make at our little Titusville pizza place. Fresh garlic, tomatoes, slightly limp crust (when it's at it's best).
I'm sitting on our back porch, looking through the screen at the pond behind our neighbor's house thinking about the only other thing I'll miss about Titusville. The light - at a particular evening hour - is golden, washing our walls with a buttery glow. We've been fortunate to have this piece of land. This rural neighborhood is beautiful, though it imprisoned me for the last 24 years. I longed for sidewalks and neighbors taking strolls with families. I was lucky to see cars drive by occasionally, instead. For most of my children's youth the UPS and FedEx drivers were the most frequent visitors at the front door.
Now, the rain stopped, the drips splatting from the eaves, the shimmering of the water, I can appreciate the beauty of the place. But I won't miss it.
