Signed. Sealed.
It's done.
I drove down to the notary's office, under skies furiously threatening to burst open. I love this light—feels like the world is about to end. Makes us small and indivisible. One beneath infinity.
The rain came as we were sitting down, pouring like crazy. I don't believe in this sort of thing—signs, guides, gods—but just as we finished signing the documents, the storm died. Then a great big sunbeam came bursting in, setting the entire room ablaze, all gold and bright and shining.
Our childhood home is sold.
Time to move on.
