calmWe kiss and they are gone, out to the still dark silence of pre-dawn. The car was loaded last night and I turn on the kitchen light again to wave from the window; otherwise they wouldn't see me. Then I return to bed. It takes awhile to fall back asleep and in fact, the door re-opens moments later (a bag forgotten and thank goodness now instead of 2 hours down the road) and closes again with a snick.
In the quiet left behind I sleep away the morning. There is no noise to interrupt, no noise to get me up. I have nothing planned and nowhere to be today, no demands. It's all so quiet and empty and mine.
If I clean the house now, it will stay cleaned for a week. I will not have to pick up anything that I didn't put down. No dishwasher wheezing and sputtering through a wash cycle for seven days while it slowly refills with only my dinner dishes. I won't have to do laundry again until they will return, all screeching and glad, with piles of long underwear, fleece sweaters, and socks and socks and socks.
Instead of dressing, I read poetry. I answer the phone and disappoint 2 small voices asking to play. Maybe it's time for lunch: I can read at the table! Afterwards, I will have my choice of projects to keep me busy, a walk to take before the rain returns and music to keep the silence at bay. For now, I'll revel in it.
