The moving truck and its crew came around 8:30am.
Entwine, Jim, Orlando, Danny, the Fisherman and I got together for a prayer of protection and guidance before starting...
Then, box after box were carried away to the gigantic red truck, beds were dissembled, mattresses wrapped in their protectors and carried away, sofas, chairs, TVs and tables were fast disappearing from each room in the little white cottage...
Imagine watching a movie in fast motion, and that’s what you’ll see… people coming in and out, out and in, things being taken away, the Fisherman and I cleaning, painting, cleaning cleaning… could you see it pictured on the eye of your mind?
Around three, the light outside shifted, and the atmosphere of the little white cottage changed to a yellowish hue, outside I could hear the ruckus of crows in the woods. The pumpkin colored light outside told me that it was time to go.
I closed my eyes and tried to conceal the tears. Melancholy filled my little heart, but I continued cleaning carpets and painting and making sure that my lovely little white cottage was left as perfect and beautiful as she deserved to be for the new owners.
What a sad sensation that was; caring for something you so love, only to having to give it away to some strangers. It was almost that sensation a mother feels when giving away a daughter in marriage. You help her put on her floor length and adorned with beads, crystals, and lace wedding dress, you help her put on her jewelry and pearl earrings and necklace, you comb her lovely hair and as you do, you weep with love remembering all those years with her, all your love for her, and all she gave you in return, yet knowing that too soon you’ll be giving her away...
Little by little, finally each room got emptied out.
As I contemplated each emptied room, I memorized some of the occurrences that transpired there, the moments, the gatherings, the Thanksgiving dinners, the Christmas dances, the laughter, the stories, children’s voices, the gypsy wanderings, the sad moments too, mom and dad sitting on the settee on the front porch and the Fisherman taking their picture from the inside of the house; so you see only their backs, the story behind the crack on the tile on the kitchen floors on that hot July, when the huge fan blew off a large picture from the wall and in turn it knocked down the pretty flower vase... the floor covered in a zillion petal, the prayers under my favorite window, the bad nights, the good days…. I summed up all those memories, and placed them in that treasure chest of my little heart, so I can keep them there with me and remember them forevermore.
In the evening, when the last things were still being carried away to the gigantic red truck, I run up the hill to say goodbye to my dear little white cottage… It had never been any more beautiful, more enchanting, more magical! I hugged her and I wept with her and I said ‘goodbye I’m taking you with me in my heart’…
When I was coming down the hill, I noticed a shadow was following me… How precious when I noticed it was that same kittie I saw that first day in my garden when we moved to our little white cottage… has he come by to say goodbye too?
Soon, little white cottage, you'll meet December’s magical days when the holly and the ivy are both full grown and bare trees stand with roots on both ends, chipmunks swiftly gather and toads softly peek and leaves gracefully fall and the wind blows and the trees close their eyes full of pumpkin eye dust.
Soon, little white cottage, mourning doves have secrets to share, frosty winds made moan, Jack-o-lanterns may be carved, ghosts waltz, the junipers shagged with ice, candles and bells, fog after a night’s rain and all the old ghosts, residents of the neighborhood lining up the hill feasting on fog pies.
Soon, little white cottage, you’ll be filled with ice-covered grasses and snow white gardens, roses will be dressed in frosty costumes and the morning will wake by the hoarse, cawing voices of crows, cold hardwood floors to remind us alive, and misty windows our blessings to count, you’ll be filled with sweet smells brought by chilly winds and in the woods Hickory and Mesquite, and the eye would look upon naked branches and find stamped on trees their faces again, when the leaves come tumbling down and the woods thin out and the day will come to its end under pink skies and back in June the coming of the wild roses and the full yellow moon, warm, firefly illuminated nights, boughs like Christmas trees in summer time, the song of cicadas, the Privet shrub smelling like spring.
Oh, dear little white cottage, I am going to miss you so!