Moving On

 

We have finally finished clearing our former home.

The Hellebore is in full flower, echoing the white moon which shines overhead.

It has been empty of people for almost half a year, and now it stands,  with only a spider in the bath, waiting for a new family to move in. I hope they enjoy living in it, and that their joy is lasting.

The Eucalyptus, an evergreen, looks into the icy pond. Its branches bowed, leaves glistening with frost.

When people say "as one door closes, another one opens" I usually think "That's either clever engineering, or the architect needs to be sacked." Perhaps though, this time it is just a truism.

Crocus shoots peep out from the earth, promising Spring.

I watched him, locking up for the last time, without thinking about what I was seeing. I had much else going on in my head just at that moment. Looking back 24 hours later, I find tears in my eyes, and a weary pain in my heart. It was a good house, with good neighbours, and I miss living there terribly. I did not want to leave it behind.

The skeletal form of an acer, arches over still green alpines, sheltering them, protecting fragile new shoots from the cold.

It will be hard to find a house that will meet my expectations. 

I doubt that such a house exists, and I am certain I shall have to redefine my criteria.

I am still angry, and that makes rational though difficult, and yet rational thought is exactly what is required for house buying. I feel sure this is going to take a long time, and time is something I don't have a lot of. I am too busy. I need to stop, breathe, take stock, think. I can not, there are so many things demanding my attention, too many.

The waterfall is silent, motionless, waiting for warmer weather to release the water from winter's icy grip.

I want to go home, but I do not have one.

Three sentinel stones witness my departure.