Country

We are moving to the country so soon I can already see the mud on my boots and the dogs by my side. We spend our spare minutes on the computer scrolling through pictures of adoptable dogs and help wanted ads. Excited that we will never again live beside an above ground train track with a 24-hour schedule or below college students who move their furniture nearly every night or down the street from a fire station anxious to drive their truck to every smoke signal in the city.

We can live beside a farm, a barn, and three old women.

Our new apartment is an old renovated barn with air conditioning, skylights and a porcelain sink in the kitchen. Before people, it housed onions and carrots.

Scott laughs at me when I ask if there might be ghosts. "Vegetable ghosts?" He asks. 

I hope we adapt to our new habitat quickly. I hope we do not yell obscenities at the crickets fighting on our front stoop or call the police if a cow drunkenly wanders into our driveway or complain that the old women are gardening too loudly.
We might play music too loud and dance too hard on the wooden floors, but eventually we'll quiet down like sleeping sheep in a protected meadow.