10/10/2014 by syrbal-labrys
Yesterday was a rush job. The husband was unexpectedly home on a vacation day to help deal with a vehicular repair issue. We ran errands in preparation of fall, we paid bills. We ate a late lunch out and I vodka’d my spasmy back into submissive silence.
The mornings are my favorite things of late. I wake to the sunlight slanting across my kitchen, lighting up dill in a jar or tossing shattered rainbow bits through the “water glass” hanging in the window. But this morning, thick fog shrouds all like a sort of insulation. The house is quiet as I slip out the door with the small dog, Fen. My Returnee’s two dogs are still sleeping beside him like dogs in a June Tabor ballad.
I put my coffee on to perk, I feed Helen the ancient woozle, as well as Gracie and Fen. I look at my again re-arranged house. The big Oxford dictionaries on their stand with the magnifying light are now in the living room, having dispersed piggy banks far and wide. In the office, my Minotaur’s small oak secretary desk sits where a huge steamer trunk was last week. The steamer trunk has shifted to the room that will soon house my home-again runaway youngest son. A desk in the garage awaits sanding and painting to be HIS desk. The tools and craft items it now contains await re-location.
The dryer is spinning a cotton quilt dry, it will grace the bed in the room that will soon be repainted top to bottom. And here I thought I was done with paint and re-arrangement? Life does not work that way. It feels sensationally pleasant to lie in bed beside my husband at night knowing both my sons are within a few steps. To know they are safe and within reach after years of uncertainty at war and afar? That is a shift in more than the sun on it’s annual glide in our skies; more than moving furniture or bags, that is a shift in the chambers of the aching heart.
I pour my coffee, listen to the cuckoo clock play “Edelweiss”, hear the ferret rustling in her paper nest beside me. I make a note to get snaps for a duvet cover, for feather comforters will soon come out of yet another big trunk. Dew be-gemmed spider webs are my porch’s October decorations, red hawthorn berries deck the yellowing leaved branches beyond. One morning soon, frost will slick the Labyrinth stones. I know the world spins on in all its grief and glory. But this morning, I sit at the still center of my own life calm over coffee, refusing to be ruffled to rage.
Fall is my season, my birthday is this month. But life has already gifted me with the laughter of my grown sons.