I'm here

Even though the house where I grew up in New Hampshire was sold a few years ago, I held onto the key that I was given at age 12. It was the first key I ever owned, and it symbolized being trusted and old enough and my NH childhood to me.
The responsible adult in me knew I shouldn't keep it. But the child in me couldn't let it go. So I let it sit in my pocket that last day, the same place where it had been for all those years.
At home, I took it off my key ring and set it on the windowsill in my writing house, and it has been there as I've worked on this new book. At a certain point in the writing process a book becomes what *I* want it to be, and the book felt mine with this last revision. 

I've always known the key needed to go. It doesn't belong to me anymore and in a strange way, keeping it has held me back--which was good for the book, but not good for me. So to honor this revision, I drove to a very remote place in northern NH (2010 population, 33) that shares the name of some of my NH ancestors and let it go. The book's title is Loonsong, and though I'm not sure if we'll keep that title as we move forward, loons play a big role in the story, including a refrain.
Loons have several calls, but the wail is like a long howl and is used primarily to check in with each other. The first one calls, "I'm here. Where are you?" and the second replies with the same wail, "I'm here."


As I stood completely alone in that wild place, I heard a sound, clear and beautiful from somewhere on the lake. A loon wailed.
Sometimes the universe winks at you and you see the moment for the gift it truly is.
And I whispered back, "I'm here."