Magpie 46

yo wut up magpie?

that’s the only piece of evidence left after she chased her dream.  she had been contemplating a change for a while and didn’t know why it’d been this aching in her back, this needling in her side. then the answer revealed itself in the most lovely and interesting of places, why this part of the journey was ending so that a new one could begin.

after all, it was hers.  her very first home.  bought all by herself, with no one helping, just her own strength and decisions guiding her.  she remembers the first time she walked in the door, after her keys were delivered with a big red bow.  her pup pushed past her into the house, across the oak floors of the 1925 bungalow and down the steps into their very own backyard.  they had seen a lot over the past half decade.

she pulled out the front lawn herself, hauled the concrete blocks and built the raised beds herself.  she remembers the day things began to grow in her driveway garden, and she remembers planting the red roses that her dad had recommended.  she also recalled the first blueberry bush, planted in his memory.  and she did the best on the inside, hiring starving artists and low-cost handymen to paint the walls, fix the wiring, and make the house more energy efficient.

but there were always things in this house that haunted her.  the memory of the burglary.  her ex husband’s drunken stalking long after the divorce.  the roommates who showed blatant disrespect for her sanctuary.  the day she drove home in the rented car alone after her father’s death, a shell of her former self, collapsing into a pile in the shower and barely feeling the water pouring over her.

and there are good things, of course.  long lazy afternoons playing in the garden.  solstice parties in the winter and barbecues in the summer with friends.  laughing while a friend cut down the holly tree, and jumping for joy when the arborists took down the big weed trees.  a few dinner parties here and there with the girls.

but there was always something missing:  no matter how hard she tried, it was a house and not a home.  with no one to share it, and vacuous eyes of lodgers adding little, she felt like she was always waiting for something that would never come.

so she’s ready, a few things clutched to her chest and the memory of those five years wrapped up in her mind, ready to hand it off to someone else as she chases her destiny elsewhere.  it’s true what they say – you can never come home again.  but she holds a special place in her heart for the city of stumps and roses and big evergreen trees.

and she’s off, headed somewhere where warmth of heart and home await, where she is finally, finally safe.  where she can exhale and be loved.  just as she is.


8 thoughts on “Magpie 46

  1. Your body is your home. When someone knocks, answer.

    I think about what all the others might say and there are always others. Warning of the chances, the failures. As long as you hold fast to never giving the word regret any significance, you can not lose. You can never lose. As long as you are always forwards looking. And it feels as though you are.

    On a more practical note, can you live and work in Scotland? I'm wondering about work visas? Ha! See? I'm not so impractical.



  2. Such poignant words, such depth to this piece, speaking of letting go and making new beginnings, holding fast to the lessons without holding on too tight to the driftwood left in their place. Well done.


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