The quiet

There is no porcupine head to kiss tonight.

No dishes to pick up as I circle the living room tossing the cushions back into place and adjusting the drapery.  There are no socks to gather, no wayward items of clothing to fold.

Tulips poke up near the window in a perfect spring-time hurrah–  picture perfect snowy landscape on the other side.

I’ve set the breakfast nook with a tea service for the morning, climbed the stairs and listened.  Nothing.  No television playing too loudly.  No music I don’t understand.

It’s the quiet evening I wished for on so many evenings when my son was young. And tonight, for some strange reason, the quiet seems so loud.  Image


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