Comfortable Again
The other day my oldest son and I were talking about how nice it feels to be home from a long trip that involved a lot of hustle and bustle. To sit in my chair, in my home. To have nothing to do other than what I want. And we talked about how difficult it used to be right after his mother passed. To be alone in the house. And how different it felt now, and as I tried to sum it up, he said, “The quiet is comfortable again.”
And I wrote it down because it should be a song or in a song and he plays, too. So, maybe we’ll write it together. And then we talked about me coming for a visit, perhaps to go see a show in Houston where he lives and then to come home to play because he has a new looper pedal and he can do marvelous things with it. And later this month my daughter will come and we’ll go to Lajitas with my friends to hike, ride horses, and make music. That all feels good and proper. Life, such as it is, will go on.
Besides, who among has lived a life without a storm or two. No one really. We do our best to avoid them, but they come, inevitably, and we do our best to weather them. Some are harder than others, of course, but with luck and love and friendship, we traverse them, to carry on, to go on long rowdy trips, and come home. To be comfortable, once again, in the quiet.