A quiet day at home

This morning, my husband and son went for a long run in the woods again, while I enjoyed a quiet walk along the canal.

Now, in the early afternoon, we are all home, warm and dry while the sky darkens and the rain approaches.

We’ve lived in this house for three years now.

The old, gnarled maple outside the front of the house is a familiar sight, comforting in its timeless constancy.

From the first floor windows, its trunk twists, wrapping in on itself, adorned with red vines this time of year. Further up, on the third floor, it gives one the sense of being in a tree house.

The sky has turned black and the rain pelts white and driving in thick sheets as the last of the tree’s leaves flutter quietly down.

Inside, the scent of rich chocolate mingles with vanilla, cinnamon and a touch of nutmeg. The sound of pages turning upstairs and down are accents to the rhythms of the old records which have been turning all afternoon, the muffled raindrops, and a small plane circling overhead.

A quiet, rainy family day at home.

This peaceful togetherness is restorative, relaxing and reassuring.

It is what I miss the most when I am away from home.

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