In my bed, I lie awake.
The lights from passing cars dart across the ceiling of the guest room. The blinds are thin, nearly transparent, and I can see the tops of the trees swaying slightly in the breeze.
Tomorrow morning I will awake to the room awash with sunlight and the now black leaves will be their fall yellow. It is never truly winter here.
For now, it is dark and quiet – not quiet, quiet, not quiet – as the cars pass by on our rather busy street. Sirens wake me some nights.
It’s funny how two bathrooms and a hallway prevented them from reaching us before – back before we decided to sell this house and the painters came, and we moved about from room to room, finally settling here in this smaller space.
Our room across the hall is ready for someone else. Someone else will take the first shower in the renovated bathroom.
I like this space. I even sleep better, but perhaps that is only because it is temporary.
The fact remains that we are moving out, moving on. Only a week or two remain, perhaps less.*
But I feel at peace here with the trees and the headlights and the shadows on the ceiling.
I pull in a breath as I lie here on my side, looking over the silhouette of my husband’s neck and shoulder and out into the night. I let it out slowly, but I do not close my eyes.
I don’t want to miss a thing.
*This was written approximately ten days ago. We have since moved into our new place.
And you, Jolly one? What experiences have you had with seeing things from a different perspective?