The boys are still sacked out in the backyard, the tent sides billowing in the morning breeze, making me think each time I walk by the window that they are rolling out of their sleeping bags, preparing to storm the house with their talking and hungry stomachs.
I love a quiet house. It ranks right up there as one of my favorite things. No other creatures moving around making noise, that feeling of being all alone, my mind free to wander without the threat of distraction. Thinking of nothing, thinking of everything, listening to the sounds that are the rest of the time masked by noise. Maybe birds outside, or the creak of the timbers in the attic above as they warm up in the morning sun. I can hear horses, off in the distance, and the breeze itself, barely moving, pushing it’s way past the screens and into the house.