Wednesday, October 15, 2008

No fires yesterday on my way home to the suburbs. Clear all the way to the horizon, which is only a 5K away, but I was up on a hill and could see much farther. No smoke.

And a full October moon. I was climbing the stairs to bed last night and saw a spot of light streaming through the high window over the front door. It was illuminating something on the floor and I thought there was a light left on but: no. It was the moon. I couldn't get to sleep. I read for an hour. Finally, I put the book down and it felt like I'd just had a brisk workout. I don't think I've read off of real, tree-borne paper for a straight hour in over a year. It felt great.

Five hours later I hear my name being called out of the darkness, and it is the Little Ditchman standing at the top of the stairs. I'm not sure what she wanted or what she was doing there, and I don't think she did either. She never climbs out of bed when she wakes up, and her fashion is to just call out from the sheets. She doesn't even leave the bed without permission, so this was a disturbing occurrence. Does she even know where Mommy and Daddy go at night? It's a profound thought. I scooped her up and put her back. Told her to go to sleep. Hoped it wasn't the beginning of a trend.

A few minutes later I'm laying in bed, fraught with worry. Nothing in particular, just everything, as is a parent's meme. Then a bubble would rise spontaneously in the Sparklett's bottle down in the kitchen, and the lone gurglekerplash is like a rumbling in the belly of the home, an unsettling. Outside, the moon was so bright it reflected off every still rock and sleeping toy in the yard, exposing everything in an unsuspecting night, and after an hour or so of more worrisome pre-workday entropy, I realized my wife was awake too. We got up in the dark again. Made coffee. Discussed religion. Heard the garbage man rumble down the street eventually.

I had to get to work early, anyway. Home Show this weekend. Behind schedule on everything. And yes, I have considered the lilies in the field and the birds in the air. I consider them constantly. And sometimes I feel their sight and song are a prayer for me.