Kaleidoscope, twist and turn, the colored bits tumble about. Stop. The pieces settle into a dazzling image. My life tumbles, the pieces haven’t settled – yet – in this move from a small Oregon town to the megalopolis of Utah. I see the colors and paint them on the once vanilla walls of this home: blue in the kitchen with a stunning red in the pantry, lush mossy green in the family room (which once painted every family member said looked like the color of the outside of our Oregon home), a warm welcoming orangey-yellow in the entrance (Mr. W picked it out, Sherwin-Williams calls it afterglow). I leave the neighborhood and the cars rush and swirl and shift. I peer into the newly placed coop and watch the hens peck and scratch, hear their soft clucks and coos. One piece clicks into place. I work in the kitchen with so many cupboards some are still empty, place dinner on the table. On most nights eight of us gather. We eat, we plan, we laugh. Another bit clicks into place. To the left of the chicken coop, between the apple and peach tree, we deep mulch over the grass. In the spring herbs will be planted and the bee hives placed amongst their sweet blossoms. Click, click, click. One by one the colored bits will stop tumbling.