moving house

We were moving house. Everything was packed into boxes, ready to go. A truck was coming and I was looking over everything for the final time.

Later, we were again at home, but this time everything was in its place. We were going out but there was a sense that someone was coming to look at the house while we were out—a landlord or a prospective buyer perhaps. I hid some papers in the cushion of our lounge; I simply swept my hand over the fabric of the cushion, the fabric parted so that I could lay the papers inside, and then swept my hand back across the cushion, the fabric closing over once again. We then made sure that everything was tidy and in order. Just as we were about to leave, I noticed some grape stems and other matter on the floor that needed to be picked up. I fixed it and we left the house.