Sometimes, when our home is like this, and all I hear are the creaks and odd shiftings of the house, I forget how busy we are. I feel for a moment like I did as a boy, resting in bed in the cold gray winter light of a January morning. I used to look at the frost shapes on the old windows that looked out over our neighbor's back yard and listen to the sound of my brothers as they slept and the early movements of my parents through the house.
I wonder what my children hear when they come out of their sleep, what they think and wonder about their father as he taps away on the keyboard or lets out sighs as he thinks. I wonder what their memories will be of this place and time in their lives in the many many years to come.
I start some vacation time tomorrow. Just a few days to not have to get dressed for work. I'll still be on the phone with them for Monday and Tuesday (there are no real vacations these days), but not having to travel into the office and spending each day with the kids is enough.
I want to savor this little space here on the verge of that time. I know the actual days will be filled with things to do and cares of their own. I like this little space of quiet before the time begins. It's like the little space of time before and after sleep that lingers between the moving and the resting. It's like the sound of the waves on the verge of a very deep water.