As a child, I delighted in the all too brief evening hours between dinnertime and bedtime at my grandparents house on Sigwalt Street. I couldn't tell you what I did during that time, or even how often I was able to indulge in it. What I can tell you is the peaceful comfort I felt from looking into the kitchen from the living room. When I close my eyes, I still can hear the hum of the dishwasher meshing with the sounds from the television. I can see the light shining down over the empty sink and countertop. I can still feel the peaceful comfort in another day winding down.
The little clowns are all in bed now, quiet. Our furnace whispers heat through the house. Hubby continues his work in the basement, wanting to finish "just this one more thing." The dishes from the day are huddled in the dishwasher, the kitchen is sleeping -- clean and quiet and closed down for the night.
I am thankful for the warmth and comfort and love that surrounds me. Even more so to be able to stop, breathe deep and have the time to savor it.
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