They haven’t taken down the Christmas trees here in the south. They’ve just changed the decorations to Mardi Gras. Maybe all endings are just beginnings.

It shouldn’t have come as such a surprise when we finally moved from Van Dyke Road. We had inched our way down the road, a house at a time. First the white. Then the green. Then the brown. But it did.

I dropped my bike at the end of the driveway in front of the For Sale sign. This was different. The metal stakes in the ground said this was it. The red pick-up was gone. Only my mom’s car.

We used the empty stall for a garage sale. It wasn’t the neighbors that came. They were strangers. Touching our things. Things we wouldn’t have space for in an apartment. I leaned against my bike, wanting desperately to pedal away. Not being able to move. I should have helped. I could have priced things. Sold things. Arranged. But I was stuck. Stuck in our ending.

It took a few apartments on Jefferson Street, but we got there. We got to our beginning. Filled our closets. Filled our hearts. Made new traditions. Embraced the beauty of the impermanence, and just began to live. Keeping our hearts full of Christmas, we hung the purple, green and gold of Mardi Gras.

Change is inevitable. It is constant. It can be difficult. It will be. But the colors. The colors of it all can be —. so very beautiful! And so we begin. And begin again.