Only one week left till this place is no longer home. Not this house I live in, not this town I grew up in, not the college I attend, or the salon I work from. The house is becoming echo-y. Slowly, things have found their way into boxes, dust revealed, a space left empty. Things collected from travels, made by hand, or passed on through the years are nestled into crumples of paper. There they hide in darkness until they find a new shelf in the new place that will be my new home.
People from all over the city come in answer to my craigslist ads, buying up my used furniture. I am grateful for the technology since it is too cold for a yard sale. Now the footprints of where the furniture was are revealed, littered with little plastic bits of lego and bionicle and polly pocket. I pick through the dust bunnies salvaging tiny pieces of play.
I scrub the walls of finger prints and dog blood. The dog will have new walls to bloody with his over-loved tail that is long enough for him to chew to bits. In the kitchen, I toss all of the bottles from the fridge door that carry only the dregs of what was once a marinade or dressing. In each room, I vacuum up the dust that was this time in my life.
In just days, I will look ahead at the highway, the road to many new beginnings. I can't wait.