wouldn't work here, of course; the winters kill all but the hardiest plants. and anyway, why pot? i've avoided it my whole life, uninterested as a teenager (focused on academics, music, and spending every spare moment online), and then watching with despair years later as my brother self-medicated with it, every day, rewiring his adolescent brain, though he would never believe that, would fight you on that. but i saw it, and i know my own personality far too well. i'd like it too much. occasional would turn to daily. i see it in my friends now. the ubiquitous gummies. for pain, to relax, for sleep, for everything. so, i figure, why start.
when i woke up, i thought about july. in july, it'll be nine years at the new house, matching the nine at the old. nine years in a house that no longer exists, that is now, in fact, two long, narrow infill houses, the lot divided, the three beautiful old pines cut down to make way for progress. and isn't that just human nature writ small.