The charcoal gray shingles above our family room compose the majority of my view from the shower each morning. Behind them I can see the tops of a few trees. The sun is usually still low enough that it’s brilliant yellow and pink rays haven’t yet sliced through the trees above the rooftop.
But this morning what I saw was a snow-covered roof, smooth wind-drifts of sparkling brilliant crystals and beyond that trees…the tops of trees…as far as I could see. It was later in the morning on this day; the 17 inches of snow had given me a couple of extra hours to spend sipping coffee and reading a book that I am trying to finish, however hard I seem to be finding that to do. And yet I am still not done with that book.
Now tiny droplets of watery mist flew around me like fireworks…flashing and sparkling as they met the sun’s rays through the window…swirling and swirling upward until they reached the ceiling and were thrust downward by some invisible force. Rivulets of water streamed down my face, through my lashes and across my lips, it’s warmth sinking into me. I breathe in the scent of handmade soap and remember the first time I made it; how good my life felt; how happy I felt then; and how good the entire house smelled for weeks as it cured. And I thought “soon enough there will be time for that again.”
From beyond the door spilled the customary strains of my home. A few notes from a baritone followed swiftly with some thumping/pounding sounds and quite possibly some muffled swear words. Followed with more notes from the baritone…repeat. And a viola…song after song, note after note. A page turns, and more beautiful harmonies. And there are two little redheads playing some very elaborate game with their stuffed animals. And bickering. Because that is just how those two communicate.
This morning I ate orange pound cake for breakfast. We all did. They got dressed to go out and play. I helped with gloves still wet from yesterday, and boots that were on the wrong feet, and zippers and hats and hoods. I joined them outside a few minutes later, just to be with them in their world of sparkling, frozen, kid wonderland for a moment. They were already hot at that point, stripping off hats and gloves and unzipping coats. Their cheeks were pinkened. They were happy. I showed Ella the deer tracks in the snow and how they look like hearts. And then I said goodbye…and I left them there, with their dad.
I came here, to this place full of adults and gray carpet and tan walls and metal file cabinets. To a window that overlooks not trees, but blacktop and eight air conditioning units whose motors fill my ears with a constant hum. Coupled with the buzz from the fluorescent lights above my head, it creates a pretty constant white noise that I have learned to ignore. There is chatter around the corner now and then, but I’m not usually a part of it. It’s a pretty nice office, though I don’t make it sound that way.
It is quiet here. I can concentrate. There is no tv or wii game; no xbox. No muffled swearing. No thumping or stomping or pounding. There is no bickering. Nobody running through the house with Poppy, barking barking barking.
But there is no sunshine streaming through my window. No padding of small feet. No wagging tails. There are no fireworks; no sparkle. No soapy smell. No warmth. No memories.
There is no music here.