Nearly half our guests left the lake house this afternoon. The kids’ room—with the bunk beds (two now stripped)—felt particularly lonely for the rest of the day. After dinner was too quiet at first, then too loud when my kids started bickering, play-fighting, trying to fill in the emptiness.
I wish they could have stayed, but there is a new rhythm taking shape for these last few days. As the light went down, the sky turned blue then black, I read out loud from Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry by Mildred D. Taylor, something I’d thought about doing for days (years?) but until now, with all the happy activity, had never gotten the chance to do.