Digger be damned

The digger's in next door. Unearthing the lot. M&S, my neighbours of a decade plus are both dead now and the house has been bought by a property developer looking to churn a profit.Funny seeing this now, just as I leave this street.
When we moved in all those years ago the street was mostly still tenanted properties with people who'd lived in them for most of their lives. S , in fact, was born next door 80 years ago. Our other neighbour, at the time, was Mrs S 94 years strong, having moved there on her honeymoon. The demographic changed, of course, with professional couples looking for a des-res. The prices rocketed and, sale-by-sale , people didn't really know who was in the street anymore.
M&S's back garden was "private", right enough. They enjoyed nothing more than to sit in quietude and watch the May blossom on the tree that the dogs were buried under fall like lilac snow, carpeting their garden and ours. They always mentioned the dogs when it happened. It was beautiful, but all too fleeting; the blossom went from fragrant to rotten within a week. Till the following late spring.
And now that particular wee happening in the year is gone and the machinery of transformation are in. I know things change, of course I do. But I sit here wanting to somehow carry all that's been profound and special living here forward to what's next. I want to walk on the lilac blossom carpet away from here, not wade through the mud carnage. So digger be damned.

Onwards.