Home of Sapien

I've been thinking today about moving. Five years in the same place makes me itchy and that's the number on the horizon. And so I wonder, what kind of place can I call home?

There are contradictions here, or at least apparent contradictions. I like the must and clutter of a lived in room. A room brimming with years and prickly with history. A room that creaks and aches and effuses the facts of life. But I also like the white empty echo and light of a fresh untouched space. A room that is a blank canvas.

I like the sky on a plain open field. I crave the shelter of a wood framed cabin. I desire the gummy resin on an old pine tree. I need the clarity of morning breeze.

So what I want is all of this.