A visit from Limo and Wian

Night time comes slowly
Afternoon at the playground
My dear family.

Outside my window

Raindrops on tree buds
Young green leaves anxious to come
I gaze out in wonder.

Photo by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash

Time spent in Wennigsen monastery

My window open
Steam rises from my teacup
You knock at my door.

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

Business trip

I'm packing up my suitcase. The hotel room, a temporary home, slowly loses its charm. When I arrive in a new place, I put my clothes in the offered cupboards and place my toiletries over the bathroom sink. I do this partly because I want to claim the place as my own. Also, partly for those who clean the room daily, to show them I respect of their space.

Now, I open my empty suitcase on the bed, put on some music, and wander from cupboard to drawer to bathroom, gathering all my belongings. 

I roll each piece of clothing into a tight roll, as I was taught decades ago by an army friend. Then stack them in layers throughout the suitcase. Shoes and slippers are stuffed with socks. Toiletries snuggled between the underwear. First, press out all the air in the shampoo bottle before snapping the lid shut. 

Before I go, I do one more tour of the room. The feeling of welcome, the hint of adventure, dissipates. Leaving behind an ordinariness that borders on tackiness. I write on a sheet of the hotel's notepad, "Thank you" and leave a tip for the person who will clean this sad room and restore it back to its proper state for the next guest and stranger.

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

Such a sense of relief

Performance review

Discussion about everything

Leaving with light steps

Photo by Wout Vanacker on Unsplash