We moved into our new house during Thanksgiving weekend. Sometimes it feels like we’ve been living there for years. Other times it feels like we are trespassing in someone else’s space. We have painted and put new floors down; taken down wall paper and put up our pictures. We are starting to make the space our own.
Our new house still surprises and mystifies us. We don’t know how to turn on the lights in the back deck. There are outlets everywhere. The house creaks and groans in the wind.
Still, we are learning. How to drain water off the pool cover (we have a pool!). How high we need to set the heat at night. How quickly our ice maker can make ice after a party.
This morning as I walked out our front door I noticed them: tiny purple crocuses peeking through the dirt. I grew up in an apartment in Brooklyn but spent many years helping my grandfather and then aunt plant these flowers. I know they need to be put in the ground in the early fall, just as we put an offer in on the house. The previous owners planted these flowers knowing (or at least hoping) they would never see them. Now they are here to welcome us. Purple is my favorite color.
I want to remember these purple flowers and the joy they brought me this morning: spring is almost here; our house’s surprises can be good; time marches on whether we’re noticing it or not. And this fall I’ll be sure to plant crocuses again.
This post is part of the Slice of Life writing challenge hosted by Two Writing Teachers. You can find out more about the challenge here!