Walking Upstairs

Wednesday, January 16, 2019
It's late.  Time for bed.  About to head upstairs, I pause with wandering thoughts.  But then I hear it, and it stops me in my tracks.  The sound of my daughter's even breathing as she soundly sleeps.  The silence now coming from my son's room after an hour of coughing, now soothed by the glass of water and Australian magic drops.  Coming up the stairs, there is Pepper, sitting in the dining room, wondering if she wants to be a night owl or fall asleep on Juniper's coat on the couch.  I hear the wind outside tonight, spinning around our house like it will whirl it up like a top that leaves the ground.  Then the wind is still, my thoughts are still, my daughter keeps breathing, and Pepper keeps watching, perhaps wondering if the wind might cast a stray bird or feral cat against our screen door.  But the wind dies down, the house is quiet, the rain has started making pelting noises on the gutters, and everything else will somehow fall into place.  x o, Karli

Horsley, an Australian suburb in New South Wales, in the Fall of 2018

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