'I should like to bury something precious in every place where I've been happy and then,
when I'm old and ugly and miserable,
I could come back and dig it up and remember.'
To bury precious things is a concept I've had a lot of time to think about lately. With life comes inevitable loss and sometimes the need bury some things we love when it's time to say goodbye. A memory, a love, a word, a promise, a smell, a treasure.
I am packing up the tiny house I have called home for the past 3 years. Here in this house, I've spent so many nights shivering in the cold, rugged up in bed, pleading for the light of morning. I've washed countless dishes. Cooked for the people I love. Discovered my love of gardening. Reignited my passion for painting. Set up & taken down my easel over & over again. Broken my favourite bowl. Cooked porridge in my pj's & roasted veggies from my backyard. Fallen in love. Sat on the couch peering into the dark, the silence humming while I nurse a broken heart.
To leave all of that, to wrap & box up all that I own, each object with it's own quiet memory attached, is something I am ready to do. But the preparation to do so doesn't come without moments of unexplainable sadness. A gentle grief that I can't describe or perhaps justify to anyone. This tiny place has housed some of the biggest moments in my life so far & although it is just bricks & mortar, a roof & walls (albeit damp ones!) I feel as though I will be both literally & metaphorically closing the door on a vast chapter & stepping into some unknown territory.
Don't get me wrong - I am SO excited for this new adventure & the idea of sharing my living space with other people has, over time, become a lot less scary to me. I am looking forward to the sound of floorboards creaking under someone else's feet as they pad back & forwards to the kitchen. To the distant voices of telly in another room & the smell of whatever they're cooking for tea reminding me that it's time to put the paintbrush down & resume a normal eating routine ;) The house I'm moving to has already been a part of my life & I love it very much. There is light & air & high ceilings & a giant garden that I am so thrilled to be able to potter in. I can finally have a big loved-up veggie patch & the best thing? My very own studio. I cannot describe the joy in my tummy whenever I think of that! Does everyone get that excited about a space to make artsy mess in? I feel like I've won the lottery.
This is the first change, that I've consciously made, in a long time that I am extremely positive about. But thank you for allowing me a little space to confess the sorrow that comes with saying goodbye.
Here are some things that have been precious to me in the the last couple of weeks.
Nanny's bulbs that appear in all their sunset coloured glory each year in May. Seeing that first flash of orange bobbing around beneath the wattle tree is almost like being hugged by her again.
New potty babies that have gone to new homes to be loved & hopefully house little planty creature.
Hand written mail & knowing that someone's trip to the letterbox might make them smile.
Laughing & laughing with my incredible big sister.
Lunch with Mumma bear for Mothers day. Feeling blessed to the tips of my toes to be able to sit beside her. She's always warm, my Mum.
Bleary-eyed, early morning trips to the market with a dear friend, armed with coffee & coins & the hope of discovering junk & treasures.
Painting into the early morning hours, listening to this & needing to drag the heater out so that things will dry.
Gorgeous gardens, flowers bowing their heads in the wind. Winter turning everything green & learning to feel better about the cold.
Witnessing my little brother achieve something I am so indescribably proud of. Wanting to wrap him up & protect his big beautiful beating heart but knowing he is brave & that, sometimes, we just have to trust. Trust the patterns, trust the hopefulness in our hearts, trust that goodness prevails & that even though we sometimes need to bury precious things, we might just dig it up & remember again. One day.