A Safe Place
Home.... a word that means so many things. Sometimes I feel it was my unquenchable thirst to find home that kept, that keeps me going. To feel safe, warm, loved, valued, needed and fiercely protected. There are certain things that bring with them a deep peace at the mere mention; crisp white sheets flapping in the wind on a clothesline, the rolling drum of the clothes dryer and the hiss of steam from an iron, butterflies floating on a gentle breeze, the moon and stars spilling light on my garden, wind chimes gently singing, an old wooden screen door that creeks as you open it and slams shut as you let it go! Glass jars of jam - still warm. Wind, the kind that comes out of nowhere just before a storm, revealing the underbelly of the leaves. The sound of our dog dragging her bowl across the kitchen floor with euphoric, anxious licks and coffee percolating, sending steamy kisses throughout the house. My babies giggling at bath time, the whooshing of water as it first takes flight from the summer hose line with gurgles and kicks. Fireworks on the 4th of July and fireflies that light up your backyard, popping out from the soft green grass on sweet summer nights. I love the symphony of cicadas as I fall off to sleep and the cool soil from my garden as it says hello to another day. And mostly, the sounds of my children as they stir around the house, not knowing that I'm listening. I hear them chat to each other and tell jokes and share their day with one another. I love the hopeful lift in my son's lip as he hands me a dead butterfly and says 'Mommy, can you fix it?"... But the most precious of these is the sound of my home tonight. All the people I love most, asleep, safe under this roof, in this home that we have built together. My children and husband all have a sweet sort of cub snore. I hear it when I lay close in bed every night beside him, and with every delicious nap I take with my babies, or upon gazing at them in their beds and cribs at night. Watching their stomachs rise and fall… rise and fall, lips quivering and fingers flinching. The faint sounds of the doves that have settled under our soffits and my grandfather clock that we found in an antique shop in New England. If the Universe has a sound for peace, this is its sound for me. This will forever now be its sound for me. And always in the background Sam will be in full sway on our tree tire swing, dusty black converse dangling, laughing back at me, calling me to play from wherever he is now.
