Lowering my head into the gusts of wind and driving rain, I cradle the stack of books in front of me; tightly pulling my jacket around them to protect from the elements. Instinctively, I looked at my feet as prepare for the stairs. My protruding front is all I can see. Not quite trusting my footing because I can’t see my feet I gingerly make my way down the granite steps. Suddenly, I remember times that I waddled here and there not being able to tie my shoes nor see my feet. Now instead of carrying the weight of a baby, I swaddle books; huge stacks of books from the library, from bookstores and borrowed from friends. They are all through the house. Books. My children are mostly
grown now, while the others are finding their way in the world through athletics and friends. Meanwhile, I sit and contemplate how quickly all this change seems to have transpired. The house is quiet. There is a big chicken roasting and turkey soup simmering. This rain makes a perfect day for slowing down and savoring the quiet. My books are stacked beside me, ready for devouring during the quiet serene; that is now often my life.