the whole world is splintering. i know i sound dramatic. i feel dramatic. i knew as soon as we moved to ann arbor that we would hardly unpack before it was time to move again. i knew that. i really did know it. so i feel like a big blubbery baby that it’s making me so darn sad to leave. but it is.

and i know you’re feeling shocked too. what? you’re thinking, they’re moving? already?

i’m sorry; i can’t comfort you. i am equally shocked and dismayed. just a week ago we discovered that the last row of colors clicked on heaven’s rubik’s cube and we’re out of here. we’re not packed. we’re not ready. our ducks, as they say, are not all in a row. in fact, our ducks are all over the house and the yard and the neighbor’s yard and the universe and and and. [i was about to beat the cliche and the metaphor into oblivion, but i'll stop.]

ann arbor is a good place. a good, green place full of people to love. i will miss you, people. i will miss the redwing blackbirds and the punk juvenile cardinals at my back window. i will miss the view i have of the parking lot from my couch: i will miss spying on all your comings and goings. i will miss walking out my front door and being in the midst of friends, every time. i will miss watching henry chase after the older boys asking if he can borrow their “light savers.”

i wish, since my world is already splintering, that it would splinter into these really cool blue and white silk screen prints.

i wish, ann arbor, that i could take you with me.