a fond thank you to the light-house

I had to bid farewell to the house that has been my sanctuary and refuge, place of comfort and safety for the past three nights.

The new tenants — who are also friends and are transferring from another of the family's properties so it's all good — move in this evening.

I've been in the house — just me and my bedding and makings for coffee and baths, beverages and a change of clothes — since Saturday. I did not sleep especially well due to the road noise and early light of dawn that awakened me. The thin old futon  also caused tossing and turning.

Those, however, are minor inconveniences for what was offered in return: a space without abuse. A space of safety.

With futon roped and wrapped in plastic, the last vestige of my time there,  I took these final moments of just me and house to step through drying patches of  wetted-and-cleaned hardwood floor to return upstairs, and with Berr Symon tucked under my arm I spoke aloud my gratitude and thank you's to the house for having me as a guest.

I expressed acknowledgement of the beautiful spirit of the house and the goodness of the tenants who have lived there past and will live there presently.

Parting is such sweet sorrow — I heard those words — yet the house is not mine, which does not diminish my gratitude.

The hard part is not in the leaving this lighted house but in returning to the house of pain. Fortunately my stay will be short-lived; until my exit, I shall keep this good house in my vision and heart.

Again, house, thank you for having me as a guest. Your spirit is beautiful. And thank you also to the family, my employer, for allowing me to be present there. Your generosity and kindness and ultra-coolness bless me over and over and over …

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