Here We Are Giants

Okay, so where have we been? And where the heck are we now? This could be a long, sordid story. The kind that you would only tell to wicked children to scare them before bedtime about witches and MILs who are purposefully cruel, who say and do things they know will hurt for a lifetime. But why write of such things? Witches don't really exist, and MILs eventually wither and die, turning to dust to be scattered as far and wide as necessary, rendered powerless at last.
We are in the Sierra foothills, in Grass Valley, looking around at houses and land. We've been here since last Wednesday, when we packed our stuff, brought our kitty cat to my brother's, and rushed out of town to find our future. With our trusty computers, maps, and a dream, we are exploring the west side of the sierras, in what feels to be an inch by inch journey. Winding mountain roads and towering pines are the essence of the county before it gently rolls off to the parched lower river valley and into the heart of the state.
We are housesitting at Roger's sister's in a gated community on a man-made lake. The geese here honk early most mornings rivaling any rooster I've ever heard. A red-shouldered hawk also whistles at dawn. Unseen little mammals scatter, and dried leaves rustle in their wake. The other day, while I was making the bed I looked out the window and saw a fine and realistic statue of a buck in the backyard. It fit with the ambiance of the faux well and real bench. It was just that I hadn't remembered seeing it before. I laughed at my non-observant state, and chalked it up to the complete numbing stress we've been experiencing, when that buck bent its head and nibbled on some leaves. Yay! I was so relieved. I can still see this beautiful world.

Later we walked after dinner and marveled at the giant shadows we cast. It felt good to be that big, almost big enough so that nothing could hurt us again. Here we are giants.