I’ll move if . . .

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 . . . “


Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

3 thoughts on “I’ll move if . . .”

  1. 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

  2. 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.

  3. 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

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