Change...

I wish I could say I woke up this morning with the sun but it's been raining since last night. It feels like I have been awake since the black turned to grey. The beauty of having a house  with more bedrooms than people means you can sleep somewhere else if you wish, which is what I did last night. There is comfort sometimes in the unfamiliar.

A year ago today I moved from East Sussex back home to Yorkshire. Some of my belongings are still in boxes, which is excatly what I went to find at 7 am this morning. I remember my father put them in the outbuildings and so of course they were dusty and damp. I have boxes of books that I don't have room for on my booksehlf, boxes of photographs I no longer dare display, and personal things that only mean anything to me. A painting of two horses, a gift from a young girl who for two years was my destination. I remember sitting next to her while we painted it, I remember her peachy smell, the paint on her hands, the look of concentration on her face. There is a compass in a box, which is ironic as today I feel like a person who has no compass. A large grey paper weight with my initial on it. A wooden carving of an angel. All things which remind me of times past, and of a love that was cowardly. I fingered each item and let the memories fall on me like the rain outside.

An hour or so later I re-wrapped everything in bubble wrap to protect it. Except the wooden angel.

There is some comfort in going full circle and there is some comfort in change. The great thing about change is that it can be so constant you don't even feel the difference until there is one, it can be so slow that you don't know that it's better or worse until it is. Or it can just blow you away and make you something different in an instant.

''The heart is the only broken instrument that still works''           -T.E Kalem