it's empty now.
and in the silence i can finally hear the seven years of life that fill this house.
amid the walls and empty floors, it vibrates like a tuning fork pitched at a frequency only we can feel.
relative to the actual years, it seems like we've done a disproportionate amount of living and dying here. transformed are two very young children, replaced by a wary, irascible teenager and a brash, unabashed contessa in a leotard. the quiet air is full of their angst and energy and electricity.
passed on are a couple high-revving hamsters, an affectionate adopted cat, and two well-loved, still-missed dogs. they were all part of the ship, part of the crew~and when their time came, they were mourned as part of the family.
their life force is here, entwined with that of three more dogs and the very-old cat who is still with us and has been, seemingly, forever.
so many creatures, so many bright lights showing us the way...somewhere.
if only our souls could be still long enough to follow.
this is a happy place, mostly. made that way by the person who insisted she liked the house the least. with relentless resolve, the missus eventually turned an awkward, outdated little abode into a confident, elegant home. the house purred at her touch, and it occurs to me that you can't infuse a place with this much joie de vivre without loving it deeply.
it's taken five days to disengage from here, a herculean effort i'm not sure will be manageable again in this lifetime. the days of hefting tightly packed boxes melted into late nights emptying a large truck long after dark. our fatigue is physical and metaphysical and to the bone.
the walls echo every sound now, complaining of the emptiness.
i feel it, too.