We packed up and moved out on Saturday, in the intermittent rain storms that thundered across the Seattle skies. Hauling boxes between rain drops, heaving furniture through historically tiny doorways, BC and I were soaked through by the time we finished emptying the truck around midnight. We were ravenously hungry, the house was a mad tangle of belongings and cardboard, the kitty boys were throughly traumatized and sleep was still a ways off. And I, well, I was so excited and optimistic it was rather ridiculous. I'm taking that as a sign that this is where we're supposed to be at the time we're supposed to be here. It just feels right. I feel right.
Monday night I went for my first run. Out the back door, through the back yard, up on the levy, down to the main trail, back into town and along the base of Mt. Si. I was breathing easy, long slow gulps of crisp pine-scented air, marveling at the shocking fall foliage (Vermillion! Crimson! Saffron! Persimmon!), listening to the dull thud of my trainers on packed dirt when I saw her. She was glossy and fat on her spindly legs, huge ears flicking towards me, great deep eyes watching carefully.