Returning Home

The first thing I did when I arrived home was take down the picture of Mrs. Winchester in my kitchen. Odd, I had not even brought all my bags in from the car yet and I felt the need to do that. I considered hanging my new $2.00 thrift shop find painting there, and tried it for a time, but I missed my clock too much and there wasn’t room for both. Perhaps I was feeling the need for some change. I’ve become a different person yet again…different from that person a year ago who hung that painting. I have yet to figure out who I am, though. I am going through an enormous transformation in my life, one where inner retrospection sounds hollowly within my soul.

This morning when I walked around the house, I felt a disconnect, as if some magical period of time had passed since I had been home and I could see things from a different perspective. There were rotten oranges in my bowl in the dining room, not even sure how long they have been there. Sewing projects strewn about, I can’t even remember what I was working on. Two unfinished drapes lay on the table, reminding me that we haven’t even had the opportunity to hang the finished ones yet. Where did the time go?

I walked outside, hoping to feel a bit of spring, but the wind howled discouragingly, keeping my motivation at bay. I took my chair cushions out of the plastic bags to let them air out in the breeze. I assessed the garden situation, and saw some crocuses and blue-eyed grass. I cared but I did not. Another season, another renewal, another spring. A chance for things to come alive again, I had been here before. The feeling of newness, a time to regroup, restart, look forward to a new year. But a shadow hangs over me now that I can’t quite shake off.

Daffodil

"I picked some daffodils for you," I said aloud, as I looked into the woods to gaze at the single bloom that unfurled among the winter leaves.

"Thank you, baby," I heard the words whisper by in the breeze.