Moving to the Condo

       Why the heartache when comfort awaits us?

       No more heaving of storm shutters,

       No more sweat while mowing the lawn,

       And no shortness of breath

       Since there won’t be stairs.

       But I will miss the knobbed rosebush, planted forty years ago

       Which still bears the occasional blossom.

       I will miss the gravesite molehills covering cats, dogs, birds, even a turtle.

       I will miss the bathroom where my water broke with each birthing.

       And I will miss the ceiling in our bedroom where painted stars twinkle down.

      The years are sealed and secured in boxes.

      One last stroll through house and garden.

      I stub my toe on the broken-down sandbox   

      And something catches my eye. A wishbone?

      When I kneel down, I spot an earth-worn wooden building block,      

      Then spool back time       

      To when a child ( which one? ) sat creating her world,

      One that was timeless, one that could never be moved.

 By Ute Carson  (my very special friend)