I started
In a mountain cabin resting solidly across from an evergreen forest
Where in winter I strapped on tiny snowshoes to explore the snow with my parents
To crack ice on frozen creeks in the meadow beyond the trees.
In a  garden where
I planted snowdrops and foxgloves and columbines
And played with my neighbor’s great pyrenees under goldenchain petals.
But now
A huge, generic house has been erected where trees proudly stood
And where once was cool shade inside
The sun now blinds me.
The dirt in the yard lays barren of fresh blooms
And the snow piles less and less high every year
The neighbor has moved out after his dog silently passed away
And I am a stranger.

In my next home
The garden was so beautiful when my mother tended it
With trellises of pea pods propped against the garage
Concrete beds overflowing with strawberries
Trees rife with nectarines and apricots
Jeweled geraniums at the edge of neatly trimmed hedges providing an organic fence around the property.
We planted fairy gardens of bright blooming flowers
And every week I could run from the swinging gate at the corner to cross the street
(looking both ways dutifully)
To retrieve the mail
The library was only
two blocks away from the nursery
And even at 6 I could walk there unattended
In the summer I would go out into the grassy lawn and paint gleefully with childish slashes of color
Or drift carelessly from the swing in the backyard

Then I remember
The one bedroom apartment
Where peacocks ran loose, unexplainably
And we had claim to about 5 square feet of dirt outdoors
My piano was my haven
But I could never play too loudly in case the neighbors complained
Walking to a park to learn how to dangle from the monkey bars
Eagerly grabbing honeysuckle blossoms on the way there
and testing their sweetness on my tongue
Pepper trees and vermilion bottlebrush bristles
Prickling at my memory

Then
The house with a sunroom
Luxurious for an indoor cat without safe territory to roam
Where ants infested the bathroom and kitchen sporadically
And drunken club-goers smashed beer bottles in our front yard
In the spring we planted primroses to border the concrete walkway
And hoped the neighborhood raccoon would stop looking for cat food by the side of the house
Blood orange trees in the back yielded
Tart sweet juice
And a few blocks away
I found some pet chickens roaming contentedly
My dad would take me to the park across from their residence
And I would peel papery bark from trees
To write him secret messages
Until

We moved
The last of our possessions crammed in the cab and bed of our truck
Since the rest had already been transported
I sat on my mother’s lap, unbuckled for the lack of space
And we entered
A house that smelled like spring
And still does
Buttery yellow and clover green walls
A garden already bursting with exotic plants from the previous owner
Who gifted me a mug with advice
to shoot for the stars
Windows look out on the roof
And swaying eucalyptus trees
I thought I could never be happier
Lying in a sheetless bed
In a barren room
Already swelling with potential

But I sit in that room now
Strewn with 7 years of living
And I no longer know how I managed to fit myself into so many homes
When it feels so difficult to fit in the scant 5 feet 3 inches of myself.
Sometimes because
I get the impression not much of me remains
And sometimes because
It seems my energy refuses to be contained.

How does a child adapt themselves to environment?
And how do you find material for memories...
How
will I do it again.