Every fall the big tree in my yard dumps 15 giant garbage bags of leaves for me to rake and bag. I think I’ll move to an apartment if I don’t have to clean up the leaves ever again. But then I think if I move the people in the apartment above me probably walk around all day like elephants. My house is nice and quiet. Decisions, decisions . . .
Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “I’ll move if . . . “
First 50 Words - Prompts for Writing Practice 
I’ll move if I must
But, I’m comfortable here
Alone, on my sofa
I’d rather not socialize today
And my chores will be there tomorrow
For now, I am happy just where I am
Perhaps I’m being lazy
Or maybe I needed a moment like this
For far too long
I’ve thought about moving,
to a place more convenient,
with neighbors, a flat lawn,
and a little house that’s easy to clean.
Yet here I still am,
in this isolated place,
with a large sloping lawn
and a house that’s anything
if not inconvenient.
But here I can listen to leaves rustle
in soft fall breezes,
watch the Milky Way wheel overhead,
unobstructed by buildings,
unfettered by lights and wires.
Here I watch deer graze, squirrels hid nuts,
woodpeckers busy with their work;
a wren wakes me with her song at dawn,
the only other sound my husband’s breathing,
no automobiles, no planes, no voices.
Here I have space for all the gardens
any woman could want, contented hens
to fill my breakfast plate with eggs,
and neighbors far enough away
that I cannot see or ever hear them.
When I am too old to garden,
too old to hear the wren
or see the deer,
too old to enjoy being alone,
then, perhaps, I’ll move.
Moving is inevitable for us ,
Hence nothing grows
beneath our feet
I mean , the grass .
Pack your bags , helter skelter
Some organised souls
Have an army of helpers
Fold and pack , avoid jitters
We imitate and try hard
Paint , label and stow ,
Lumps swallowed hard
All chaos , no order to show
I still forget where is which
The labels stay , contents dont
All ends up , hotch potch
Meagre trunks , pots , clutch
Trucks arrive and leave , hurry
All heave and scurry
Possessions depart in a flurry
Petrol fumes , tears , goodbyes , vision blurry
We must depart , sooner
Make haste , don’t linger
Uproot and tear
I’ll move if he does , oh dear
There germinates a thought
forget -me -nots
Vagabonds, are we not ?
Very existence fraught
Lack of permanence .
In essence
Evanescence