The Cottage

  I fell in love with the Albany cottage   long before I ever imagined living in it.

  I would often pass by it on my way to other places, walking my dog, or running errands.

  Although located in the city between well-traveled streets, it seemed to stand out like an oasis in the desert -- always surrounded by lush greenery. If I happened to pass by on foot, I could hear the soothing sounds of the creek as I walked by.

  In reality, I was living in a tiny studio apartment. My name was on a seemingly endless waiting list at my local Housing Authority to obtain entry into the Section 8 housing program -- a federal program to assist low-income and disabled persons with finding and renting appropriate and affordable housing.

  I had been on the waiting list for about two years.  It had been long enough for me that I had  long since put the list out of my mind, and  planned my life around what housing was available. My tiny studio was, after all, cozy and dry. It was a home. And that was more than many people had.

  I had finally emptied out the small storage unit that had  held the remainders of my "extra" furniture and household goods. I was proud of myself. I had been pragmatic and ruthless in disposing of these ghosts of a former life. The fact that I was able to pass them on to others had made letting go of things much easier.

  I was content to go out on walks and enjoy those moments that reminded me of other times in my life -- Moments like standing by the creek, near the red cottage.

  Little did I know that, before spring would be over, the cottage by the creek would become my home, and herald the opening of a new chapter in my life.