"Brown boxes are everywhere - cardboard in every size, on every speck, of every space, in every room. There are empty boxes, half full ones and those ready to be named. Nothing feels very solid around here these days - other than cardboard telling me that I am going somewhere.
Moving isn't quite my cup of tea any more, but there are sweet spots. When you move you get to dust off and revisit the corners of your life. Some of what adorns my home have served their purpose - these will get shared or tossed. The rest - still meaningful and necessary - will make their way to Colorado. I get to choose.
Tonight was devoted to packing books - the ones beside the bed. I glanced at the titles - a funny mixture of poetry and running, Huxley and humor co-mingling! A wide range of interests and a library to match.
Then I saw the words. The packing came to a hault.Kahlil Gibran's, The Prophet. Its pages well-worn and softly cradling a letter. I knew instantly what lay before me. Gibran's lens on love and my Beloved's feelings once known by heart. His words had turned my life upside down and right-side up so many years ago.
For a second I wondered if I should read even one poetic sentence. But I wanted to feel again what once was and then experience how much my heart had healed.
I grabbed a glass of wine, propped up the pillows and settled in for a long summer's night read. It was good and by midnight I was done....nothing left. Lessons learned, boxes packed, wine consumed.
This once loved woman, or so I felt, shed hardly a tear. I earned my rock star status this hour.. TIME. It simply takes time."
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