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.

Published by Hannah Kennedy

Hannah is an old lady at heart, with a deep love of yarn and floral patterns. She has curly hair, she is a lefty, she googles everything, and her favorite color is blue. She can usually be found reading everything from nineteenth-century fiction to modern psychology, doing yoga, dragging out chores to fit the podcast she's listening to, or watching The Office with her husband.

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