We are putting our house up for sale.
Not a decision taken lightly, but we need to "downsize" a little to save money, and it will also be a chance to get a house in a slightly quieter location as we do get a huge volume of traffic rushing past our front garden, day and night. Although my rational mind accepts and acknowledges the validity of our decision, my heart does not. I find myself wandering round the house, my hands gently touching the things I see, and then invariably heading towards the kitchen door.
Opening it is almost like opening the door to a different world. My beautiful back garden is filled with the hum of contented bees as they buzz around the plants and herbs, many of which are in flower at the moment. The smell of the garden is indescribably wonderful; early in the morning when the dew is still present as it potentiates the heady smell of the lavender, honeysuckle and raspberries growing in close proximity to each other. If I brush past the bay tree, the heavy scent of the leaves is almost intoxicating, and further up the garden is my beloved white rose tree which smells so fragrantly of Turkish Delight and never fails to bring a smile to my face.
I shall miss it so very much. The sadness I feel is so strong it produces a physical pain. Every day brings a procession of varied birds to the feeding station visible from the window, who like the shelter the garden provides as well as the fruit and berries for their delectation. It will take many years to build a garden similar to this one, many years of relative barrenness as the trees, plants and shrubs I hope and plan to plant will slowly, so slowly, grow their way to maturity.
I wish I did not have this inbuilt resistance to change, this inability to live for the moment, enjoy and then let go gracefully and embrace what new things may lie in store.
I will not mourn the house, but I will mourn for the loss of my precious garden and its living things. Even the creep-crawlies.