“Home is the nicest word there is.”
Laura Ingalls Wilder

I fought
The good fight,
Resisting leaving behind
My home of eleven years,
But I'd made up my mind
When the opportunity came
I would make the move
Into town,
Into housing better suited
To someone of my age, and
With my issues.
Now I am here,
And after two weeks
Of packing and unpacking,
I look around
At my new digs,
Smaller and
More intimate,
And think of the many
Potential new friends
Surrounding me.
Then, gazing out of
My seventh floor apartment
At the mountains in the distance
And the prettiness
Of the neighborhood spread out
Below me,
I wonder
What kept me so long?

c. 2025