The rain drops fall delicately onto the earth like the tears of angels. Above, the sun is taking a leave from daylight and the clouds are his curtains. As he sleeps, the grey sky weeps and cleanses the world.
Does the rain signify the end or just another start?
Visiting an old home brings back nostalgic memories. Leaving a home takes memories forward. Every smell of damp earth and fallen leaves makes an imprint upon the sands of the mind. Taking a walk through an old pathway of worn cobblestone, the best perfume is the one of home. Like in a forest, where every bush, flower and tree have their own unique scent. They make themselves a home in our hearts and come out to the surface when remembered.
Buying a new house up north, my family is moving after almost 10 years of living in our current home. Right now, we live a cozy townhouse in the middle of many, making up a small clutter of units and suites. 50 years strong, the red bricks of the houses are now a pale faded shade, some places chipped. They are small but sturdy like a colony of ants. The red bricks contrasts with the black of the asphalt shingles. Some parts are peeling off, but it still keeps the homes safe and warm nonetheless.
Lining the pathways of our own community, are small bushes and narrow clearings of grass. The sweet smell of the flowers and berries are calming and soothing. The green is a relaxing sight to the eyes and out there is a forest of our own.
A few streets away is a park with a small ravine running across the fields. Deer and other small animals scurry under the bushes and live alongside the humans among the shadows. Every time we walk through the forest, the sun is cast and shining across the roads.
Each block of townhouses are covered and hidden behind a myriad of trees and bushes. A window in our house looks out upon a small square garden contained within a stone block. In the middle of the garden is a petite baby tree. It's trunk is slim with delicate branches reaching out to the sky. It has been there since we moved in. Season through seasons, it has grown, slowly, but surely. We've watched it lose its leaves only to grow them back every year. With each coat gone, it grows a bit taller.
After all, it starts with spring. A new leaf. A stronger tree.
This community is our summer, autumn and winter. The brightness of the initial joy, the turning of a new page, and the melancholy reminiscence. And the future holds our spring to our new home. Leaving behind every sight and wonder, but never forgetting. They are brought with us, wherever we go to come back one day. And when they do, the waves of memories wash over us like a comforting blanket of all the years past.
The end of a chapter. The start of another.
After a harsh cold winter, it will always start again with spring.
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