And so the house is quiet…
Just as the summer heat breaks
and the September sun softens,
entering the garden with an autumnal chill,
our home assumes an eerie stillness.
The car door, the back door and bedroom door
slam no more from returning kids from school.
There is no more pitter patter of bare feet on our floors
or questions about dinner, homework or staying up late.
Quiet the house is…
As if the soul has gone out of it.
While that September gust picks up,
blowing dried leaves onto the kitchen floor,
the house creaks and seems to momentarily move its weary bones.
Although all it does is sit and sigh
in solemn anticipation of the noise and chatter
of candlelit holiday dinners and future family reunions.
In this quiet house,
that was equally reticent when we moved in to dispel the silence
with screaming, playing, running, laughing and crying toddlers,
I sit at the empty kitchen table
wondering why I should even bother, cooking dinner.
So quiet the house is that I’m offended…
Sweet house, why should we be defined by the lives of our children
once they vacate this place and take their dreams with them?
What about our dreams, our time together
Our shared regeneration?
What about filling up this place with laughter, joy and company?
The house is no longer quiet– it doesn’t sigh but whispers:
There is still time…