Bookshelf: An interlude


Long, hazy days of summer were replaced with unpredictable fall. Mornings would break with mists hovering over water and the sun was reluctant to shake off the cloudy covers and rise and shine.

In one certain household much packing was being done. This was not just the casual packing of a short trip but a considered process of determining what was definitely, what was maybe and what was sadly, no.

Finally boxes were piled against the bedroom door, clothes neatly placed in suitcases, the bed was stripped and linen washed and folded neatly and the room given a farewell clean.

A young girl stood in the room and took a final look. The room that had been her shelter and work place her favourite environment for growing and becoming had performed its duty well and she felt ready to take on the new world that awaited. Sadly she could not take all her belongings with her at this time but she was sure she would return for them at some time. Taking one last look around she focused on her beloved. Opening the bereau one last time she took out the items she needed and whispered, “goodbye”.

Closing the bedroom door felt like the end of one life; opening the car door and taking her seat next to her father was the beginning of a new life. Her place at college in Liverpool promised new adventures, new people and new challenges. Yet she would always remember that her room and her belongings would await her return.

As the car drove away, the dust mites danced in the early morning sun, then settled familiarly on the contents of the room. It seemed that the bookshelf empty of all but a couple of books and the inner sanctuary of the bureau containing a few letters and notepads settled too, patiently waiting for the young girl who would return as a woman.


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