Our bed is put together and when not wearing socks and shoes we can feel dust on the soles of our feet. There is sweeping to be done. It feels like a first house. The hardwood floors are made up of my childhood. So is the scent of the rooms. My memories of 8316 Willow smile down the hallway of this old new house. The hall is skinny and long. Every light fixture in the house is different. The doors are old and the kitchen is new. The morning light comes in the back window of our new bedroom gently and embracing. The afternoon sun pours itself slowly through the brown living room blinds, filling the floor and the air. The light at that time of the day is dark and warm at the same time. It is like a large grandfather reading the paper and falling asleep. It is like a grandfather clock. We moved all day Saturday. Brought the piano inside at two thirty in the morning. We put it in the middle room. This will probably be her sewing room. It has good light, the brightest in the house. My studio has awnings over its two windows. The light creeps into it. It is darker but lovely. No hot water yet so we showered at the old house last night. Brought with us our towels and toiletries. On E. 3rd the old house has only empty carpet. We miss the Eastside. But we love our new house. Today they will turn on the gas here and connect the internet. Today she will make a presentation. Today I’ll put the desk in the studio and the drawers in the desk and the studio in the drawers and try to finish writing a story about a woman named Marci and a horse in the yard sniffing for apples in the shed. There is a chill in the air today and a set of wind chimes outside singing to the chill. There is a place in the living room for a record player. There is a tree in the yard up front, thrashing in the wind. The two of them use each other to bend towards the earth, to tell it a secret.