The Journey Inward

My last few days are intentional
in thought, activity and location.
Packing and repacking are certainly on the list,
and so are final precious moments spent with special people,
but also time in this house that gave me a new life, a rebirth.

I wake and sip tea on the back porch in my jammies and robe,
enjoying the backyard I so lovingly transformed 
from gravel and garbage to gardens and sitting areas,
I move to the front porch, where I watch the borough bustle by,
chatting with neighbors and babies and dogs
and appreciating the fruits of my labor there, 
the wild front bed, strip of rosebushes, popular birdfeeders,
and the whimsical porch decorations.
So many meals shared here with friends,
so many cups of tea sipped,
so many chats on the sofa.

Inside, I love on the decor all chosen because it spoke to me,
rather than conveyed a certain style,
or any style at all, for that matter.
I take in the treasures and pack up the pictures.
I stay in bed and luxuriate in the leisure.

I remember the courage and hope and resilience of my spirit,
to want more for myself and the girls,
even as it was and will always be the hardest choice I made.

This home has been my sanctuary,
my comfort and solace,
my launching pad,
into a life as rich, deep and happy 
as I dared to dream it could be.