The house is empty now. Early mornings, waking up to a new stillness, a new battle exists. The beauty in stillness, battling the echoes of memories.
Empty bedrooms, where once children laughed, fought and cried, are neat, fresh and tidy. No more strewn clothes across the floor, and gone is the anger, of picking them all up.
Just my sound, and just my breath. No-one to look at, just myself.
Looking out the window the trees sway in a cool early morning breeze. They have stood there all this time, and never moved. Birds have made nests in them, and then flown away to pastures new. Its a strange feeling. And thats what it is.
The past has to go, and each day is new.
Being alone, and now living alone, is a whole new ball game. It happens to many when they are old and grey and some sit in corners and reminise about the past. More often than not this is where they stay.
So each day a small battle takes place. Who will get in first. Memories of how things were, how they could and should have been. Or a new life, of letting go, not delving into or wondering what will happen next. Just being.
Cars start to drive past the house. The children next door, wake up. Their footsteps and laughter can be heard. Its quite a lovely sound. Birds start singing, flying to and fro, the biggest tree outside the window. One sits on the windowsill and peeps in. Its a beautiful morning, and its going to be a beautiful new day, if I make the right choice.
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