The day is approaching, and although it has been on the horizon for some time I felt like there was more time always, or my new job to start that will have me migrating during the work week.
As I spent a few hours alone in the room, however, thinking “hello, walls” my mind raced over a hundred artefacts that could it in this or that nook and corner. One can never think of everything, but it’s amazing how quickly one can build up and visualize the missing inventory, like when returning home after an extended vacation and the dimensions and relations of familiar things seem somehow exaggerated and being out-of-place is easier to spot. In any case, despite whatever was left out (that I could bring on my next trip), I had a rather large world globe from the early 1950s, a peripatetic library of books to read, and an antique butter-churn in a jar, which I consider far superior than any trifling convenience left out.
One item overlooked, probably more by my own carelessness than anything else, was the key to my postbox, which was also not labeled. Searching for the likely slot, I saw that I had a quite special fellow-occupant (Whom I hope to never meet and spoil the illusion) and that He does not have time for junk mail either. It will be a change, certainly, and although I walk already quite a bit, I could detect the difference in culture along urban streets already, like one is transported a bit more when accompanied by stately homes and enterprise, but I think everything will be OK.