I remember the day we moved in (the 15th March - 'beware the ides of March!' my mother said, but no tragedies did befall us in this house, luckily). I remember standing by the back door and looking out into the garden; the smell of cleaning fluid as we wiped down the kitchen, those big empty rooms that were ours to fill. Tom and I bought the house in our first year of being together and so we've lived our formative years as a couple in this house. This is the house where we celebrated getting engaged (when we returned from our trip to Wales where Tom proposed), this is the bedroom where I slept the night before we got married, and this is the kitchen where we opened a bottle of champagne on our first wedding anniversary in April. I like to think of life as seasons, and I feel as if we are moving into a new season of our lives; stripping the walls back and starting anew, but with everything different. I wonder what season we are moving into - or if we have moved and grown through them all and are beginning a new cycle of growth and rebirth. Maybe you don't know what season you're moving into until it arrives; a hot, impulsive, slick Summer, a Spring of change and newness, an Autumn of winding down, a Winter of rest and solitude (and awaiting the eventual Spring). There is no calendar, only constant movement forward, one foot in front of the other.
It's impossible to account for how much you change and grow over time. You evolve and shed skin. The removal man looked at a dusty corner in our house today and said "You lose a million skin cells every day. That's pretty much what dust is. It's a shock you even still have the same DNA." I think of that for a little while. It's impossible to avoid change. Not even your body stays the same. You couldn't be the same person even if you wanted to.
And now everything has been packed into the removal van ready for tomorrow. The house is mostly empty. The clutter of every day life cleared away, the slate wiped clean. In a few days it will be refilled with the contents of other people's lives - a stray sock at the top of the stairs, keys hanging on the hook by the door, washing hanging on the line. Different lives breathed into its walls. And us in our new house, doing the same.