Lasting

Last thing

Last night

Last minute

Last dance

Last drinks

Last chance

Last train

At long last

Last week

Last year

Every last drop

Last kiss

Last days

Last laugh

Last hurrah

Nothing can last forever

Last ditch attempt

Last tango in Paris

Last man standing

Last temptation

Nice guys finish last

Last resort

Last stand

Last gasp

Last I heard

Last meal

Last breath

Last legs

Last words

Last rites

Last post

Last but not least

Last line

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It's our last night in St Andrews. I feel like I've written the sad poems about saying goodbye, so I just played with the idea of last tonight. Still I feel that something needs to be said about endings and beginnings. Most of my blogging life has happened here. I blogged when we bought the house and when we moved in. I blogged the bushfires and when Snappy died and I didn't blog when the neighbour's boy drowned but I did blog the poems Frederique wrote for me the morning after, when she could barely write, because my sadness was so palpable. My father-in-law died when we lived here and my half sister too and my mother fought breast cancer. 

And of course, Avery was born and the house became too small to accommodate us all.

And there were the tiny moments. Everyday life went past, ordinary and miraculous. 

We've loved living here and I know we'll all miss this house, but we are exciting about the move, fifteen minutes down the road in the car, on the trainline, still surrounded by trees and hills.