Everything is different now. The stars are brighter. The sky is bluer and big, so big. When space junk bounces along the atmosphere during orbital decay, I can see the edges of my breathable world.

The WideEyedHousehold heaved itself westward a little while ago. WideEyedSpouse, Useless Little Black Dog, Hank the Corgi, and Cat rode in the Mighty Pathfinder, and I cruised in glorious, isolated splendor in the Smooth Ride from New York to New Mexico.

The domicile is stucco, the roof is flat, the yard is made of rocks and sand. Friends passing through town said our neighborhood looks like sandcastle mold blocks scattered down by an enormous toddler on the beach. I can’t unsee that. I watch for the stocky toddler legs and stomping feet in my nightmares. Nightmare toddler always has on a blue bunchy waterproof diaper cover. The diaper cover is suspiciously heavy looking.

“Why did you move here?” ask the People we meet.

“Joy,” I tell them. Because the ineffable heart lifting wonderous glee of going somewhere else, trying something else, being someone else is reason enough and too hard to explain.