PORTHOLES

The view from my back porch window is misleading. In a plesant way but, still, optically deceptive. From where I'm sitting, I could be anywhere. Depending on my mood this can be a liberating sensation or a constrictive notion. For the most part, because of the altitude, I'm in an airship that doubles as a house.
To the North and West, vast hills with countless trees and rich vegetation. At night, pale yellow and flickering blue lights from several cottages poke through the dark green. To the South, the electric monoliths of a distant metropolis (ok...Boston's 4 or 5 buildings and the red Citgo sign) stretch across the horizon like an attendant alien landing site for giants.
My house on the edge of everywhere.
I've never been one to "nest", really...but it's strange to think that this place that I've called home for less than a year evokes more feelings of calm and comfort than one I lived at for 25 years. I've still got a lot of travelling and exploring to do, but I now know, on the days that I can't leave my house, that I can still venture out.