We are leaving for an apartment in the trees, a tree house in an Irish twin town of green tobacco farms, curious black bears and sweet corn stands.
Scott is hearing horses and applying for jobs. I am photographing empty barns, walking down dirt roads and wearing bug spray every day. I am washing dishes in our wide porcelain sink, drinking tap water and walking to the bathroom in my underwear. Scott is chopping carrots for the couscous cranberry salad, saying, "I can't believe we live here." I am laying on the bed watching the clouds change shape and pass over the skylight's wooden frames wondering when we will have another pay check and cursing the regrets I have hiding inside my flat empty wallet.
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