Early Delivery II

When I scheduled an 8:00 a.m. eye doctor’s appointment in the city for this week, I forgot how early I’d have to get up to catch a train.  Now that we are “empty-nesters,” I sleep long past my husband, who is out of the house before sunup.  But between the late moon filtering its vintage light through our uncovered picture window, and dreams that pried me awake, I climbed out of bed at 5:30 that day. I strolled down the dark driveway to pick up the newspaper about 15 minutes later. 

Standing by the street, on a cold but bearable February morning, I remembered a day a year ago, when the weather was more seasonal than now.  That was probably the last time I took the same walk in the dark. Later I wrote about the quiet.

This time on that brief trip, once again the soft swish of distant cars on the state road supplied the only noise on a morning when sound arrived packaged in soft wool.  I stood in the windless dawn, listening to the absences; the lack of birds, the stillness in the trees, then turned to encounter a fat moon casting a phantom light from above the garage, where it hovered like a ghost to the sunrise that would appear in short minutes. 

  

Swinging the rolled newspaper as I took slow steps up to the house, I drank in slivers of sound, the silver of light, grateful to have stumbled upon this frozen moment—a reminder that sometimes the best there is, ends up being everything that is not.

Hey all, I've just joined the Rach Writes Platform Building Campaign.  Although I've never formally joined  before, I did participate in some of her prompts and found them fun and wonderful in regard to improving my writing.  If you'd like a challenge, check it out here.