A past-midnight call, I was on my way to bed the phone rang and what? area code what? number, then dead air. That sense of dread came creeping, a curious worry, a why, a who, so star sixty-nine baby, you rang? Calling from Guam? I didn't even ask what time is it there, seven, eight, nine? Looking for a highschool sweetheart with no notice of the time. Yes the same name but no not the same, although I might not tell you true if it were and I know that's not very nice. Apologies for the disturbance? accepted. The air was chilled and I'm glad I didn't let it go caller unknown. What sense of desperation, an edge in the voice, how many other numbers?

The house is so quiet without him, he's gone 500 miles he's been gone 100 hours I can hear the wind brush against the roof I can hear the windchimes I can hear the creak and sigh of the house settling for the night. The little grey feral cat we nicknamed Griswald who comes to eat at our back door and sleeps in our woodshed is lame in a front leg. He hobbled away gimpy with his swollen leg, a blend of fear and distrust in his bright green eyes when I spoke softly to him. I put a blanket on the floor of the woodshed. It was a dark wet night.

The house is quiet and my heart is not, his absence distracts me, like a part of my self has wandered away. How many times did I intend to mention something? How many ideas did I want to share? The house is very quiet, I miss the hum of him, the electric crack and bustle, his bootheels on the floorboards. I miss the looks and smiles, the hands and conversations, the sound of his life and breath the presence of his width and breadth. He returns on Wednesday. When he left I did fine until he got in line at the air terminal, then I was beset with stupid little hiccoughs and couldn't see through silly tears. They blended with the rain as I walked back to the car. Phone calls are a poor compensation for walking side by side.

I enjoy solitude, and seek it often, but the house is too quiet without him.