Spring leaves sway gently

Spring leaves sway gently
Rain drops cling to wood and steel
Holiday come to end

We left Friday evening, arriving at the lodge around 6:30pm. It didn’t take long to settle in, meeting up with family—my in-laws and sister-in-law—and easing into the weekend together.

The weather was warm enough to sit out on the decking, pizza and drinks in hand, the kind of simple start that sets the tone without needing much more.

Saturday was a full family day. We headed into York, spending time at the JORVIK Viking Centre, then on to The Hole in Wand for something a bit more light-hearted, with a wander down the Shambles in between. The weather held up all day, which made everything that bit easier and more enjoyable.

That evening was more of the same in the best way—food together, drinks, time spent talking and laughing, and later on a bit of time in the hot tub. Nothing complicated, just being together.

Sunday slowed things down slightly. We visited the National Birds of Prey, taking in something different before heading back for the final evening. Bags were gradually packed, and we shared one last meal together, a couple more drinks, holding onto the last few hours before it all wrapped up.

One thing that stood out over the weekend was how little I was on my phone. Even less time on social media than usual. It felt easy to be present—laughing and joking with Jill, Max, Grace, and family—just enjoying things as they were happening.

The break did its job. I felt lighter. I slept well—three good nights, which made a difference on its own.

Monday morning came around quietly. Grey skies had rolled in, the kind of soft rain that clings to everything. Droplets sitting on wood and metal, a slight breeze moving the leaves. It was a calm moment, but one that carried that familiar feeling—the end of something good.

There’s always that mix at the end of a weekend away. A bit of sadness that it’s over, but also the pull of home. Your own space, your own bed, your usual rhythm waiting for you.

That was the moment the haiku came.

A small way of holding onto it, before moving on.