In the beginning it was quite simple...there was just air. Nothing between them, nothing attached. If it had been a home it would have been a grassy lot, maybe uneven dirt...perhaps maybe just a property line staked out with red and green tape attached to the wooden markers driven into the ground.
Not empty, but nowhere full.
No shelter. No fireplace, no protection. But there was imagination...there was a view. There were the ways the storms approached from the East and broke and cascaded. So there was that.
And with that first kiss the very first brick was laid...not quite a cornerstone but maybe the beginning of a walkway...the beginning of a porch. Perfectly placed, a brick surrounded by the rest of the world but somewhat stark and almost lonely.
Soon other bricks were joined, the mortar this connection that was still not quite settled, but tenuously in place...raw. A small portion of the walk that was just beginning. But the view...with just a few simple bricks the shapes were imagined...the fence lines...the hedge lines...the skylights. There was so much to imagine.
With each lunch or coffee, with each paragraph exchanged in words she was becoming known. But she was just a guest...new...like a returning traveler to a familiar inn...coming and going but mostly hidden behind private doors. Except with her there was such a desire to follow...to learn more. To hear. These tiny bricks she laid that promised something...something of grandeur. You could almost feel it...almost recognize it.
When you were with her, just a small portion of it felt home-like.
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