I didn’t know why I couldn’t settle in at first. The air was kind, the people softer than I remembered people could be. A woman wheeled her husband into the morning light while she checked on her garden bed—one of many raised plots that bloom with generosity. A sign read “STOP STEALING MY PEPPERS,” but I knew it wasn’t about stinginess. It was about care. Ask, and she’d hand you a basket. Just don’t waste what was grown with love.

Neighbors wave from porches. One saw my sister and me struggling with iron furniture and joined without a word, heaving until the task was done. She dusted off her hands, tugged her wagon, and disappeared down the path.

Women meet in the kitchen to invent reasons to laugh.

No one goes hungry. There’s a room just for whatever is left.. The competitive ones play cards under jazz, rock, or classical—whatever the day deals.

Doris sits quietly on the back porch. Ralph waves every time he passes. Dogs are content. Cats have catios, not to keep them in, but to keep danger out. Cleo knows this. She leaps and cries “Mooooooom” when she needs me to rescue her.

If prejudice lives here, it’s keeping quiet. 

This isn’t the place I almost fled from, where I imagined loading Sam’s carriage and chasing a rocket launch southward. Here, I wake up, brew coffee, feed the cats. Sam waits for the keyboard to wake him.

Cleo naps. Miss Match dusts. I create the dust.

Even the tiny woman who tugs my sleeve doesn’t glare at my height. She just pats my arm when I retrieve what she couldn’t reach. No words needed.

Yesterday, Cleo kept leading me to the dresser. The drawer was cracked. I finally opened it. Inside: a toy mouse, half-buried in lace. Something I’d forgotten. Something she hadn’t.

You’re welcome, precious girl.

Sometimes the Universe picks you up and sets you down where you didn’t know you belonged.