I imagined the house quiet, after they’d left. I could hear the memory of their voices as they were now, an echo. I could feel my heart pull in the way a hand contracts to a fist, the way a tide recedes as it pulls out, the sound as everything settles down and softens. And all there was was loss for all I didn’t do now. So I called out goodnight and they called back, and when I woke the next morning I rose the same as I did any other day, not knowing any more than the last.
Bill Pearse 
Reminds me of something I just read of Marilynne Robinson’s on grace:
“Beauty is reciprocal. Beauty disciplines. Understanding any moment as a thing that can bless time or come to poison it.”
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Ha, that’s gorgeous. Outcome of Doubt, perhaps. One of the outcomes.
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Perhaps, both the leap and the landing
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Regret is that stew you wish you hadn’t made
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each day is a roll of the dice
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Sentiment doesn’t translate well into action, in my experience.
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True that, probably fools you into thinking you are, acting.
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Sounds of the house resonate in verse that strikes a cords for all to hold close. as we all continue with our journeys. Bubba, says well done.
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Thanks Bubba! Like it.
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