After lunch I walk. I pass the houses in our neighborhood, cozy, colorfully painted. Clipped hedges and bright flowers. Trees swollen with age, lining the street, bending over the houses in protective embrace. The houses are all empty in the pale daylight, all left silent as its livers go to work or school.
I return home and hear my house. The creaking of the wooden porch beams, the whispering of the stove, the solid drumming of the rain. I’m here to hear these things. I wonder about the empty houses, and what sounds in them no one is there to hear, until the livers return to their beautiful homes to rest for a few hours before going out into the world again.