The days said goodbye. One after another. Some you acknowledged. Some you didn’t. They just went. You looked up, ah, it’s March? Already.
Standing in front of the kitchen window looking out, you saw the snowdrops had company; the crocuses had just renounced their solitary trudge to the woods and settled in the garden. A pheasant came for the stale breadcrumbs, leaving little for the blackbirds and grey pigeons. A squirrel struggled with the bird seed cage on the conifer, a robin patiently waiting underneath.
The days have gone, leaving behind threads of happiness, anguish and sadness that you could see if you were to look back. There were warnings: “Don’t. Don’t go there. Carpe diem”. These you paid no heed to. Other worries crossed your mind. That one day, perhaps, one day you might not be able to. To look back. To remember anything. That one day might come, eventually. It did for others.
You had already lost your self, through being a homemaker. You no longer had a dream that was not connected to your family. Without a doubt, you were grateful for the privilege and the bond. Never stopped counting your blessings. Still. There was this tiny, tiny urge to revisit the old days. To make the journey back to see if you could find your self, who lived this other life that had been meaningful too.
You did not want to be young again. You had no regrets coming this far. But you were beginning to forget what used to be inspiring, what pulled at your heart strings and that unsettled you. Before anything should happen, if it happened, you had this sudden desire to live a little more. To remember, yesterday the moon was blue, the whole house full of dreams….