Moving On

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.