to you, who will live in my house

a single blossom on my dogwood tree bloomed, long after all the others had dropped

Today is the day. We are signing our house over to you. So much about this house is perfect, and difficult to leave. The cupboards my husband built by hand. The shelves in the office we stained in the garage. The song on the wall. The way the wood floors are so cold in the morning, and how coffee fills the house with warmth. I have loved this place since the first day I moved in, and we flooded the basement with the washing machine.
This is the house I was married in.
The house in which I spent so many nights alone, waiting for a late night call from Alaska.
We painted all of these rooms. We hung all of these doors. We made this place our home.

But, it is time to move on. Time to see what there is to be seen. Time to leave this little nest of family and friends, and see the world from a different view.

So, to you, love this space. Take care of it, as it is old. Understand that you are inheriting something important to me, something I planned to never give up. Something I still consider my home.