Friday, December 12, 2008
I can hear Dear Wife running around upstairs, her sturdy-but-comfortable clogs pounding the way. She is in the kitchen. Now, the living room, rounds the corner to the stairs, and takes them two at a time. Her luggage is in the guest bedroom. An hour from now I will be driving the Dear Wife to a shuttle that will take her away for many days. I will be left to my own devices, to care for the cats and birds, to terribly miss her. When this separation happens, as in the past, I usually pace around the house for a few hours, reorienting to the silence, avoiding its precipice.
Posted by bastinptc at 9:19 AM