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!
