We are finally close enough to done that I begin to carry some of the clutter down from the upstairs rooms. The work of remodeling the bathroom had taken over the sunroom, the hallway and the landings of the stairs. Leftover materials, old fixtures and fittings and tools I might have needed had gathered during those perpetual one-way trips from the workshop. I pick up the heavy air nailer and a caulking gun, head downstairs.

I open the back door and look toward the garage.

Locust trees and maples fringe the bank in dark border on this dark night. Pink roses hang heavy blooms over the stone retaining wall along the drive. There is no light from the sky. I walk slowly, savoring the coolness of humid air. There is no traffic on the street, at least for this moment. I can feel the hint of rain all around me, that verging notion of drops not yet formed. It is in the quiet, the closeness, a delicate tenderness in the air, the grass, the leaves. Even the shapes of trees soften.

I should live so gently.

H. Arnett
9/25/09