Boxes, not Pandora's

Boxes in all sizes.

Small. big. medium. in-between.

Lined atop each other

face-down, bottom-up

side-by-side.

Can't remember anytime when it wasn't like this;

Can remember every time it has been their turn to be boxed and lined up. 

'Packers have arrived' tralalalala

the song paired with the screech of scotch taping,

the thud of the cardboard boxes on the bare flooring,

the fine dust that puffs up with every haul and manoeuvre.

The laughter, the banter, the whimsical whistling of the packer-boys bent-on filling them up, 

box by box, space by space, room by room.

Rounding off the days, four days in row

till the boxes 'carrying pieces of our life' are ready to board,

to be driven away boarded up, on wheels 

to travel homewards in the waters

to sail away and touch the shores at the other end,

much later than we touch home ourselves.

Like two-parts-of-the same traveling home on different time-capsules!

And maybe, just maybe

so that we are home to welcome back : the boxes 'carrying pieces of our life',

made up of the familiar, of the comforting, of pieces of memory and memoirs.

Each time a box is opened, a piece is revealed 
- a tiny familiar lurch augurs a memory, 

and a vivid inspiration for its nesting place

in the new home! 

(@Cliveden@Grange 10:45 pm Day1 of Packing)