A haibun on change and transitions for Dverse poets…

It was a gypsy life in the Air Force – home was always wherever we hung our hats.  We got used to hanging new curtains, digging new gardens, meeting new neighbours, and the children survived a succession of schools and friendships.  They grew up and left home, and still we travelled on, just on our own this time.

Then for a while we put down roots in a wild and lovely place, built a barn, built a life and a church.  So many good friends, none of them rich or even very famous, all of them special.  The gifted years, treasure beyond treasure stored up as memories.  Until we got older, and the children were too far away, and the distances too great.

This time the wrench of leaving was something we felt, like a tree being pulled from good…