Monday, January 23, 2012

oranges, again

Sitting there, in the steady rain, is the latest example of whatever mammal has been raid in our orange tree this time round.  Coming back from dinner, we saw a possum scurrying across the road, but there was no way of telling of he was the thief.  The oranges, for me, stand as such a powerful symbol of living here rather than in New Jersey, and I feel powerfully bonded to them (can one feel bonded to a half eaten orange?).  I think what I mean is that in New Jersey, I was very aware that I never walked or drove around and thought yes! This is me!  This is a part of me - indeed, quite the opposite, which is probably why, last weekend, I mysteriously only felt a small whisp of nostalgia for a state in which I spent ten years,  And yet, coming up the stairs to the house, I only have to smell a faint whiff of orange, and I know I'm home.

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