Moving Eve

This will be my last night in my cozy La Salle home-in-the-trees. Boxes are stacked in huge columns around me as I write this, and my khakis are covered with grime from climbing in and out of the attic. It's quiet, crowded, and marvelously dusty. I'm looking forward to my pre-dinner shower (if I've earned one, I may still be climbing around then.)

I've dumped all the birdseed on the windowsill, mainly because I don't want any creepy-crawlies growing inside the container en route to our new home. So periodically, as I navigate past the labyrinth of towering box stacks in the bedroom, I'm startled by the fussy court of sparrows twitching around the curly iron railing.

Tomorrow morning, the movers come for everything. They've already sectioned off the spaces in front of the trees with little signs. Once the car is packed up, I want to take a picture in front of it, posing in anticipation of the open road. One of those 'Here we are, before our great journey' photographs. Many years from now, when my son and I pack up the car that will take him off to yet another part of his special, wonderful life,we'll take another photograph. My hair will be frizzier and gray, and he will, I'm certain, still have his fantastic, broad grin.