Horizon.

Saturday, I slipped away for a few hours to an estate sale in the oldest part of town. Estate sales are my favorite. I'm immediately drawn in and start piecing together the story. I love listening to the host talk to people as they come and go, buying this and that. I love touching old trinkets and turning the knobs of old doors. I love knowing the story behind the things I buy. And almost always, I get emotional. There is so much spirit left in things that people let go, things that people used to care a great deal about in the very place they made their home. I love that I'm the one who gets to relove these things. Somehow, it feeds my soul.

The woman in her fifties was the daughter, and she was holding the sale for her elderly mother, who had recently moved into an assisted living home. This was the home the daughter grew up in and when I commented that this must be hard for her, I was the one tearing up. She was selling her old furniture, her mother's aprons, her great grandmother's fur stowe, old family yearbooks from the '40s, recipe books, and family dishes. The list goes on.

As I was touching, opening pages, leaving my fingerprints in dust, I was listening. I was thinking about life's one truth, the one thing we all face; the reality of letting go. Life doesn't keep. Time has never stood still. In fact, tonight, as I ran my fingers through Morgan's hair, I was so convinced that time has sped itself up so fast I can't seem to understand it.

The truth is, we get older. Babies grow. Even I am getting wrinkles. We say hello to new friends, and of course, one day we all have to let go and say goodbye. Standing there on that creaking wood floor, I understood.

I heard it from the walls, from the lace hanging on the windows, and from the shutters on the doors. Life was lived there. A story began, and spun itself several beautiful rounds. It's now slowed down.

Leaving, I noticed thick green leaves of tulips lining the edge of the drive. My thoughts have since been treading in terms of full circle. It's actually sort of perfect.

On the inevitable, holy horizon, there is promise of Spring. I know it.