Finding the light
The house was quiet, save the for the crickets, who ceaselessly chirped with their natural cheer, and the incessant traffic from the busy road at the end of the block. All of our table lamps were in boxes, so I huddled in the living room within the small island of light from our floor lamp. It was my last quiet morning there, in the house that had given us so many good memories. Later in the day, after the sun was high, but shielded by clouds, I cleaned all the rooms newly made vacant by the industrious moving crew. Rather than mourn, I anticipated all the ways our bright, sun-filled old house would bless a new family. In our new house, I look for ways to let the light into the rooms. The house faces east, and has no southern windows. Our backyard abuts delightful woods, full of mature trees that filter afternoon rays into our kitchen before the sun dips completely behind them. There's a giant weeping willow out front--we're deciding on the perfect branch for our tree
