The loudest noise comes from the swallows who have nested in my brother's chimney. Every 15 minutes or so, they chirp in urgency. No doubt the mother had returned from a successful hunting trip and they loudly protest to be fed first upon her arrival.
It's beautiful here, though the beautiful blue skies of yesterday have given way to gray. Still, the horses are in the pasture just beyond the fence line, the wide expanse of open fields dotted with groves of walnut trees stretches out before me, and the colors of summer -- wheat and green -- remind me of a pastoral watercolor.
I am taking pictures, trying to lift my lens from the dogs and the landscape to my family. My mother with her gray curls for the first time in a long time not working in the kitchen; my father quietly sitting in the shade on the porch, smiling ever so slightly at our constant stories and witticisms; my sister-in-law who takes up work in the kitchen preparing meals, cleaning the counters, and discussing exact instructions for barbequing the halibut; Ann, my love, swinging in the macramé chair suspended at the corner of the deck, enjoying my family as much if not more than I am; and finally the dogs -- ours and theirs -- learning to co-habitat and share and occasionally chase each other around the yard.
This is not what I expected my life to be, but now that I'm here, I can't think of any other place I'd rather end up. In the car ride down here, I told Ann that I was hesitant to say it, but my life feels golden right now.
"I don't want to open myself up to disappointment," I explained and she laughed telling me to relax and appreciate it all.
I'm trying.
Now, with the world around me still asleep, I'm letting myself settle in to the golden moments. And just as I feel my body sigh, a bathroom door opens, I hear more rustling from downstairs, and the world opens its eyes.
