The Next Chapter
What is my next chapter
after the farm is sold
away from family?
What’s next
when I look through the dining room window
at land in
someone else’s hands—
someone who has yet to spill
tears in the fields,
blood on the soil?
I must loosen my grip, I know.
Breathe.
Stay present.
What do I see now?
What do I hear in this moment?
Right here. Right now.
But my mind jumps to the
void
of the next chapter,
its dangerous mystery.
I’ll be fine.
I repeat this a lot.
But this mantra is neither
grounded and present
nor leaping forward.
It’s a weak prayer.
Sometimes it’s a lie.
I’m in the liminal space.
Here,
lies breed and multiply,
fester and spread,
ooze and sink deep into the soil—
a worrisome poison
mixing with the tears from my last walk through the field,
dancing like mercury around the blood from my wounded heart.
I’m in a liminal loop,
I repeat this a lot:
I’ll be fine.
But this mantra is neither present
nor leaping forward nor a prayer.
It’s a lie.
I’m not sure how to come round.
I think it’s here on the page,
here where—
instead of fretting over
my next chapter—
I focus on Eleanor’s,
on the stroke her life arc deserves,
on the story that will land on wounded hearts
and help them heal
to face their next chapter.
©Pennie A. Nichols. All Rights Reserved. 2026
Beautiful. I can relate… felt that way the day my parents moved from the farm, where they lived forty years. I wasn’t happy when they moved us away from suburbia when I was nine. But my dad had turned it into a sanctuary, caring for so many trees, catching and releasing woodchucks and raccoons. We walked the field that last day. I took tons of photos. Now someone else is creating memories. And my dad is gone,
<3
“Dangerous mystery” is such an evocative phrase. These steps are huge.
Thanks, Carol.
It’s always hard to imagine a cherished home belonging to someone else, with all those memories we keep. You’ve captured those complicated feelings in your usual powerful, lovely way.
Thanks, Laurie