After many years I am packing up my writing room. It’s where I put on music and sit with a coffee. Look out the window and watch the leaves change from green to orange, snowflakes float, buds open and snow melt. It’s where I watch the grass grow, the lilac tree bloom, and spring arrive. Where my animals spend most of their day. They sleep while I write. It’s where my mind roams. Where I turn words into paragraphs and creativity rules. Where I wrote three novels and rewrote…and rewrote…
Books from the bookshelves are packed in boxes and labelled. Framed photos wrapped in bubble wrap sit on top of boxes. File cabinet cleaned of notes, short stories and forgotten manuscripts now typed and saved on an external drive. The bulletin board is clear of reminders and magnets with cute sayings. The shelf above my desk sits empty except for two Buddhas and a plant. I am moving on. To a new town. A new house. A new writing room where I’ll put on music, sit with a coffee, watch the seasons change and write…
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