Life as a House

Hit by hail and shaken by storms,
paint flaking, walls marked by
settling scars,
she still intrigues,
with walls of white, windows framed in blue,
and arches overgrown by honeysuckle.

Inside new treasures fight for space,
with old bargains collecting dust,
piles of books and magazines,
photos, knick knacks, plants, and rocks,
floors well worn, dishes chipped,
all telling stories of life, love and loss.

She is the safe space,
the scene of tears and laughter,
dinner parties, quiet evenings curled up with a book,
simple cups of tea, and the occasional cup of Irish coffee,
the holding of hands, the letting go,
the celebration of life, and of death.

The house is now in flux
mirroring the big changes knocking,
and the need for brooms to sweep,
for hands and hearts to let go
of memories, mementos, big and small,
of habits long lacking in purpose.

Which book to keep, which treasure to discard,
what clothes to wear, which videos to trash,
and letters, artwork, carpentry treasures,
gifts, journals, and unfinished projects –
where do they belong,
when they no longer fill drawers, and decorate walls?

What do I need?
What can I let go?
Which story is necessary to tell,
which one can be faded out?
How do I weigh a life,
and what is left hanging in the balance?

However I choose, change is coming.
It will not wait till invited,
it will not hesitate before entering,
it is in the air,
it comes upon the winds,
and it demands its place without apology.

The only thing to do, is
acquiesce,
the only thing to say, is
– welcome!

 

Featured image by Monica