Just Looking for a Home

We aren’t the first to move West.

As the literary giant Larry McMurtry wrote in his only novel that nobody ever read: We’re Moving On.

Linda and I have been off the grid for a week or two.

We aren’t hiding.

No one is looking for us.

I wish they were, but they aren’t.

We did not drop off the edge of the earth.

However, I’ve looked over the edge a time or two.

No new posts.

No new book reviews.

Facebook was kicked into the dark.

So was Twitter.

Linda and I have left the lake in East Texas.

Gone are the rolling, timbered hills.

Gone are the winding country roads.

Gone are the towering steel derricks of the oil patch.

Gone are the pine forests that shaded the land of our birth.

We are headed to the flatland prairies of North Fort Worth.

What has drawn us to the dropping off point of where the West begins?

A couple of little redheads, one eight and one six.

One plays soccer and baseball.

The other performs in gymnastics.

We don’t miss a goal, a score, an out, or a flip.

Years pass.

Times change.

So do priorities.

However, I did make one important discovery during the packing, toting, and hauling.

I moved boxes and boxes and boxes of books.

I may start writing shorter and smaller novels.

The big ones are just too heavy to pick up.

 

 

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