Tonight, unable to relax or even allow distraction to carry me away, the only thing I have to do is sit and get to know my uneasiness better.

A cool breeze plays through the house, seemingly pushed by the cars that pass on the street outside. The dog is panting, the first sign of a warm summer yet to come. 

The house is still, a state that I would sometimes cherish. But this evening, I would gladly trade this peace, this quiet, for a normal evening together.

The thought of going to bed is uninviting. I imagine myself lying there, merely turning, unable to sleep. 

Tonight my sister asked me if I was nervous about your surgery.  I should be.  The idea of a heart-lung bypass machine and open heart surgery is enough to make anyone question their mortality.  

At the same time I wonder, with no small amount of awe, at the accomplishments of mankind, aided by God’s wisdom seen and unseen. 

Here in my chair in our pleasant living room, recently refreshed by our children in light sage green, I am aware of its beauty. But, it is meaningless without you to share it with.  

After 35 years of having you with me, quiet evenings are only a luxury if I know you’re on your way home. After tomorrow’s surgery you’ll be five or ten more days in the hospital. 

The only thing I have to do is stay busy. I can distract myself by getting things done around the house or I can explore my thoughts my feelings with pen and paper. Some of each is in order, I think. 

the dog’s in my lap 

mufflers purr on the big street ...

lampside moth wings buzz