The ties that bind us to a marriage are not unlike those that tie us home. Emotion ebbs and flows. Sometimes we are guilty of apathy . Sometimes the four walls that surround us no more than a
Lately I feel as though the house is slipping away from me. If it it was a marriage I would want to call time on this willful neglect. I would say enough, nows the time to re-connect. I would turn our worlds upside down so we could be together, time to repair damage done by time, time by ourselves. I would say, I’m sorry, I won’t take you for granted anymore. Won’t expect you to thrive in the face of my indifference. I will look after you, I promise…
Whole weeks go by and though I go through the motions, follow basic routines and light candles every evening something is missing. There is no real interest there, other than for what the house can offer me: warmth, light and nourishment. No joy to be felt simply in it’s presence only a lingering sense that life would be so much better if I had a new oven. If there was a door in the kitchen straight into the yard. New pillows puffed with the happiness of Spring….
Because a new season is almost upon us. The cosy bliss of Winter now exhausted and layers of dust thick enough to write a promise in, just asking to be blown away. Looking back through the archives of
Today I bought an armful of lilac tulips. A new block of parma violet soap. A pile of dusters thick as a dictionary, because Spring is tingling in my fingertips and I owe it to my tiny little terraced cottage to fall in love with it all over again. To prove my love with elbow grease and imagination.
I heal you and when I let you, you heal me.