I am in the middle of having the house packed up to move. While it is certainly less physically demanding to have others come in to box everything up, it is no less emotional.
Even though we have been in this house less than a year (yes, the same fellows that unpacked us eleven months ago are boxing everything up again), we have live and loved and felt at home in this house. We have entertained, seen the sunrise and set, gloried in the fresh air and be,owned another rainy day. We have watched a fire turn from flames to embers in the fireplace, seen heavy snows on the trees (and shoveled it from the driveway).
And now, it has all returned to boxes. From boxes you came, and to boxes you will return…..
Snoopy isn’t too sure what’s happening, but he doesn’t think he likes it.
These shelves held a rainbow of fabrics, just waiting to be used.
Empty walls, boxed up chairs… All awaiting their new home.
All around the walls have memories……. many stories to tell. Now some of my life has merged into the story of these walls.
And my life looks like a blank page – just like the barren walls. The silence is deafening.