alone in the house
A thin curtain blows across the bed.
The wind moves it gently.
Then it lands in place against the headboard.
A minute of stillness.
This is love.
This sense of home.
It fills you with belonging .
Knowing where you are.
That you are here in this moment.
And you can see the little bird lighting on the deck.
Just being a bird and that being; being enough.
And the house is quiet.
There is a single cup of coffee
for you on the table.
A book by the bedside
that you can take to your favourite chair.
The phone is on silent.
You are on silent.
You are basking in the stillness of it all.
A guilty pleasure of having the house
all to yourself on a Saturday morning.
Slow. Time. Passing.
- Deanne Fitzpatrick