As I look out my kitchen window I see trees. A year ago when we first moved to this house, I saw an enchanted forest of tall impressive trees sheltering a yard in which to play. But now, I just see trees. I long for the sights I used to see in Illinois. To see the earth meet the sky. As I look down I see our yard, which has improved a little, but is mostly still just moss waiting to be covered by leaves from all of the offending trees. I can see our riding lawn mower, parked at the edge of the forest, that my husband has used four times this year. It reminds me of our lawn back home that sometimes needed mowed twice a week. Mostly, as I gaze out of any of my windows, I ponder if people from Virginia that move to the midwest miss their trees as much I miss wide open spaces.