We used to live on top of a hill. It was so densely covered in live oaks that you had to drive halfway up the granite driveway before you could see our house - grey and white and tall in the midst of the trees. I can't even imagine how many times I drove up that driveway and caught the familiar glimpse of my home. First, as a high school-er in my blue minivan, then home from college in the old Lexus, then back from Austin in the Miata. I even drove up the drive as a married woman in my beloved Tom's black Jetta. But we do not live on that hill anymore and I was reminded of that this Easter as I brought my sweet baby Piper to visit her Nan and Pop in their new home. It was not my parents' initial choice to move to a new home. They as well as I pictured their grandchildren coming up the live oak hill for visits. As little as I consciously thought about it, I had always expected to be able to bring my kids back to see where I grew up. But, after last Easter, a fire started ...
"Earth's crammed with Heaven, And every common bush afire with God; But only he who sees, takes off his shoes - The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries." Elizabeth Barrett Browning