No big, protracted spin through the two years there. No last photos of dusty interiors. No pausing to take one final whiff of warehouse air. None of it.
I was matter of fact: here are the keys. I want my deposit. Good bye.
But moving is more heady than that. You’re out of that place now. What memories are pounding away at you? What love do you recall? What pain?
I go over to the waterfront – just a few steps (the loft is near Madison’s southern lakes). Fishermen. My best buds! (I know none of them, nor they me). I’ve loved you in the summer, I’ve loved you all winter long (it’s unreciprocated – they really do not know who I am)! I’ll miss you every waking minute of my condo days!
(Surely an exaggeration)... Sigh...
I’m done with the move. Boxes unpacked, feet up, computers on. Tomorrow, my daughters are flying over to inspect the place.
Restless. I drive to the quiet of the meadows and fields. The sun is low now. A few clouds, open fields, a band of sunflowers, standing tall on this hot, dry evening.
Back at the condo now. I hear a knock on the door. Come up to the rooftop. We’re just talking and watching the lightening move across the sky.
I go up with a glass of rosé and talk for an hour, another hour, until my eyes cannot take it anymore. I drift in and out of the back and forth. Shadows create perfect images of our little circle, there around the twelth floor table.
I have moved. Finally.
