Every morning, the first thing I do is come downstairs, open the blinds and thank the Creator for my view of the trees and creek. The lush, varying greens of Summer are a favorite, although those first explosions of Spring also take my breath away and the white etchings of snow-covered winter branches are the highest form of art, and the brilliant orange, yellow golds of Fall are ridiculously spectacular.

This weekend marks 13 years of living here, and I have loved the view each day of those many years.

Opening the blinds is my morning prayer. I’ve woven many forms of continual prayer into this home.

How many hours have I spent on the deck, watching the many busy chipmunks, the albino squirrels and their common grey cousins, the cardinals and woodpeckers and occasional hummingbird?

How many moments of crisis or heartbreak have I paced the driveway, arms raised to the trees, imploring their guidance and protection?

Often, I place my hands on the walls and say thank you.

Some evenings, when I’m walking up the stairs to bed, I see myself doing so throughout time, imagine my ghost gliding up and down the stairs into infinity.

Echoes of a little girl, friends and family gathering, Christmas carols fill each room.

Is it unhealthy to love a home so much, an apartment I don’t even own, a simple, aging duplex in the city?

The basement has a cupboard where my dog liked to sleep. The crayon sign my daughter made proclaiming his private space is still scotch-taped to the door. He died upstairs as I held him and I can point to the spot out front where he raised his head and luxuriously breathed in the autumn breeze for the last time on his final walk.

Today I swept the back deck, also a practice of prayer, and then lifted my eyes to the cobwebs reaching up the corners of the building, around the windowsills. Old and catching leaves.

I swept them down with satisfaction until I saw a spider scurry away and then another. Then I continued sweeping but with un-ease filling my gut as I took down their homes, maybe even killed them. This is part of the prayer, the attention to each moment, how I affect each being around me, how I am affected by each being, each place.

This place, my home for 13 years, has held me with a loving energy throughout all the joys and suffering that a decade-plus can bring. I’m a big weirdo, a sappy cornball – I know! But this home has nurtured my contemplative spirit more than any other place on earth.

Thank you, Creekhouse.