Most of the walls in our house are a quiet shade of blue. The lights are warm and yellow, which give way to green. It’s still and it’s dim and I like it that way. There is noise and it comes from a busy street just yards away, and I barely hear it anymore. The loud, fast cars only amplify the stillness of our small house. Funny how a noise can become so constant until it’s no longer noise, it is just a part to the whole. I fear that if we ever live on a quieter road maybe I won’t like the noise that it brings.

I’m a little bit quieter than I used to be. Used to be. A phrase that can mean many things. Where exactly are we starting from? If we are speaking about childhood then I have always been quiet. But maybe that’s not when you met me, and you don’t really know the version of me that I am to you anymore. Do you think I’m different now? Or maybe it’s just that, collectively, we are different now. Whichever it is, it’s okay. Maybe it is just this season or maybe it will be for longer, I am not sure yet. But I think that I am getting back to the “used to be” part of me. I wish I could take you back to that time, to show you what I mean.

When I was young my family used to travel to the mountains and it was the only time I really experienced a different lifestyle other than the one we had, what my friends had. And I loved it. I find myself longing for that mountain home a lot. The house where you enter into the upstairs first. Nita and Wayne sitting in their respective chairs. It was cozy and cluttered in just the right amount, as if anything you ever needed was there but nothing was without purpose. A house filled with wonder, like a curio cabinet of sorts.

I picture the small kitchen with just enough space for a few people. Bumping elbows often and occasionally stepping on toes, I loved that feeling. A closeness that I didn’t have to express. The large window above the sink is the same window we have in our home now. Little things sitting on the sill.

Empty windowsills are such a waste.

In my mind the kitchen opens up straight into the living room, lined with windows the size of the walls. You can see over the tree line from here. This is the top of the mountain. And I don’t know if that is because I was so small or because it was true. The first place I can remember experiencing real wilderness. Herds of deer, flocks of turkeys. One year the walls were covered with hundreds of lady bugs and I can’t remember why. But Nita didn’t seem to mind as she twisted my hair into two braids so I could go out in the snow. I remember staring up at that tall ceiling as she worked, lost in millions of thoughts. Do you do that too when you are thinking?

Amongst all the wild things that came with the house, Sarah was by far the greatest. She was a small, black and white collie dog who roamed about as she pleased. Sometimes she would be near and other times you could just catch her in the distance. She was treasure to me, an interesting mind that I could never quite gain the affection of. One day we took Wayne’s old truck down to the pond to go fishing and Sarah came too. I don’t remember if she rode in the truck with us or if she just followed behind the wheels , but something tells me it was the latter. I loved that dog. I love that she smelled of dirt and magic. I picture her sleeping under the stars and looming around at the foot of the trees. I think about her a lot, even now. I see her from time to time in our own dogs, Lefty more than Fly. The way he slinks about in his silky black coat. His intense stare and curious demeanor. A shadow fox that was maybe meant to live on a mountain.

I’m not sure when we stopped visiting the mountain home. I can’t remember the last time I said goodbye to Sarah or Wayne or Nita. Years can pass without even a thought to that time in my life. But time has a way of catching up when it has fallen behind. It can be as simple as finding a lonesome feather on a walk. The brush of a hand in the kitchen. The gentle sound of birds in the early morning. All just small whispers from time, reminding us that we were never really that far ahead.

When I’m with you now it sometimes feels like I am time. You see me every now and then and it brings a faint turn to the corners of your mouth. A smile from an earlier memory. Other times I am but a muted shade of paint on your walls, the ones you keep covering in modern white. Or the sound of the train passing. You hear it but only for a small moment. Maybe it is just this season or maybe it will be for longer, I am not sure yet. Whichever it is, it’s okay.

For now, I will wait patiently for time to catch me.