Living between empty walls, rolling with the wind in my imaginings of a near-at-hand future, grounded indefinitely, waiting. “Who will live here while we explore our country?” I wonder, allowing myself to not care just now.
Mulched the garden, cleaned gutters, moved bricks, washed dishes, swept. Must be ready. That was yesterday, when my husband and I wore old clothes and work gloves, when our friend came by to help for a couple hours.
Today, another ant scurries across my lap. Must send all six and eight-legged creatures away before we have the kind of company that might want to live here while we’re away.
Slow Saturday afternoon, birds sing, boys hold steady. Big brother fills a single page with words, correctly spelled, neatly penned. I’m a live spell-check. He’s on a mission, amazed how easily time passes with pencil in hand. His smile is contagious. Little brother wriggles and wiggles, donning too small brown pants – ones I better not give away without asking. He is shirtless, sweaty, whining and wishing his mother would please ease his boredom. I watch him flop onto our futon couch. He stares at the ceiling, begins a familiar song, passing time. I enjoy his small voice, how he misses words, is a bit off rhythm.
Clothes destined for Goodwill are piled on my bed. Sorting wearable fabric is all the big-dream-almost-here work I’ve done today. Now I sit quietly, resting from yesterday’s leap of progress. For now, it is enough.
image found here
