Change

When I somewhat younger, I would always cry when we went on holiday. Not for long, a day or so, until I was used to the new surroundings, food, heat, whatever was different from home. My parents didn't know what to do so they'd ignore it, buy me an ice cream and watch me acclimatise, after which I'd undoubtedly be happy as larry and cry when we left. Strange child. That fear of newness has never left me, though I'm aware of it now and know to ignore the gulping emotion that gathers at the back of my throat. Last year there was so much newness that I think I became numb to some of it, or maybe I pushed it down far below the surface. This year change is coming in the guise of excitement, but the familiar lump is at the back of my throat and my head is hurting. I'll try to smile and forget about it, until I emerge, content, swishing my way through autumn leaves on an unfamiliar pavement.