I went to bed last night with the windows open in the loft where we built our master bedroom. It was our first night in our room we’ve been working for months to complete and when I returned home from a night away on a singing job I found that my bed was moved upstairs, made and waiting for us to snuggle down and reap the benefits of another step almost complete.
I don’t know how Husband got it up there without the help of my giant muscles, but he did. And I was glad.
When we were making plans for this house two years ago my idea was that when it was all said and done we would feel like we were living in a tree house and with the installation of the railing a few weeks ago I felt like our vision was finally coming together.
It made me feel like all that time spent looking at Better Homes and Gardens magazines and Googling things like “rustic railings” and “vintage lighting” and “log cabins” and “how to get wood glue and green paint out of my favorite Steve Earl t-shirt” was finally paying off.
I snuggled down next to Husband up there in our bedroom and made note of how we were a little closer to the stars and I liked it that way, up there among the oak tree tops.
This morning I woke up to Husband sneaking out to work. I rolled over to catch a few more blinks, noticing how the sky was beginning to turn pink with the touch of the first moments of sun. I thought I should get up, rise with it, drink my coffee and start on my writing project, but I slipped back to sleep for a moment while the world lit up.
And I woke again to the sound of a pissed off squirrel in the tree tops next to my head reading another critter its rights over something like trespassing on his side of oak or a stolen acorn.
At least that’s what I imagined as I woke from a dream about nothing in particular that I can remember.
I laid on my back and listened to that squirrel chatter, his obnoxious, angry squawk rising above the hundreds of bird species singing their morning song, the breeze rustling the full grown leaves and a truck kicking up dust on the pink road.
And although I couldn’t hear it, I thought about the swish of the horses’ tails in the pasture, the buzz the flies make around their ears and the soft nicker in their throats when I approach with a grain bucket.
I thought about the cattle pulling dew covered green grass from the ground, munching and chewing and bellowing low for their calves.
I thought about the croak of the frogs in the dam, the familiar sound I fall asleep to each night we let the windows open and the air in.
I thought about the plop of the turtle leaving his rock for a swim in that dam. I thought about the howl of the coyote and the sound of the dogs crying back.
I thought about my fingers squeaking across the strings of my guitar, sitting out on the chair under the small oaks, working to make a melody.
I thought about the sound of my husband’s breathing and the words he says out loud at night when the world is sleeping and so is he. I thought about what he might dream about.
And then I thought about the silence in this house as I lie listening to the world I was letting in through open windows. Silence between walls that have absorbed the noise of saw blades spinning, voices discussing dinner, crying over tiling projects and laughing at the memory of the stupid kids we used to be. It will be quiet in here today with the exception of my fingers moving over the computer keys, the coffee pot beep and the ice cubes dropping in the refrigerator. I will run the shower and get ready for a trip to sing outside in a different town this evening.
When I get home it will be late and Husband will be sleeping on the couch, the television reflecting the light of other peoples’ stories off his scruffy face. I will switch it off and walk up the steps to our bedroom to get closer to the stars and fall asleep to the sound of the frogs, thinking about the mornings to come in this house, the sounds of Christmases and birthday parties, failed dinners and dancing in the living room, conversations with friends, fights about bills and schedules and time, sobs about missing someone and laughter about having just what we need in a tree house with the windows open to the sounds of our wild world.
Love your writing and your pictures…takes me to a quiet, wonderful place that we all should find more often.
Pingback: Listening. [Jessy Veeder] | El Noticiero de Alvarez Galloso
A beautiful post. I could “hear” it well.
I thoroughly enjoyed reading and visualizing your words. A very beautiful, and soothing post! Thank you!
Beautifully written. I remember why I moved up to the country now, thanks for reminding me 🙂