I wakened in the middle of the night when the world was simply grey and black. The good news is that I slept again, the less good news is that I did not sleep for long. The world is now grey and green and goldenrod.
They come to visit like long parted besties Cousins to the reunion To Granny’s birthday long after she has become Great-Granny and Great-Great Granny and Ever-So-Great Granny and has ceased to be embodied as a single woman still they come, cousins to the reunion, her embodiment now.
Not where I thought I was going with this. Hmm. Time to listen to some stories.
I came out in the dark and in starlight to listen and to make the words go and now the world is revealing itself to eyes and there might be texture of grass or tree or stone but most of all, slowly revealed, are two dark, alert guardians watching with Mamaidh.
Without voices, snores, music, shows, papers shuffling, laundry washing And the precious hours of quiet seep into my heart To renew old paths by walking down them again.
Not even the literal sound: right now no one else is stirring, snoring, sighing in their sleep. Yet I feel their presence—their wonderful, warm, love presence—and I designate a thread of attention poised to follow their moments, their movements, their meaning.
But when the house is just for me —and the dogs— I can attend to other things, inner and outer and defying that binary.
They’re home now, sleeping, which is best; and I will savor the next day of silence when it comes.