A weariness overcomes me at the sight of them.
From a mountain to a series of small hills, to a the remaining few outcrops;
Progress is slow, but there is progress.
The initial openings were filled with exclamation and joy -
All that we have been missing in the few months interim
Between packing and unpacking.
Finding new places for the familiar things.
For the longed for and remembered things.
In all this new space that is ours.
The contents in those that remain are homeless.
The once in a while items that need the house to be more lived in
Before they can be homed.
The pile of empty carcasses that are picked at by scavengers,
This too exhausts me.
The converted time-machine found way out back,
Complete with decomposing relics of "supplies" for the journey through time
Crumbling alongside one another.
It is time for these to move on also.
Other scavengers enjoy the endless opportunities for sniffing,
Finding a just-right fit for a nap in the sun.
Overlooking the expensive climbing post,
For the simplicity and beauty of a box.
