Long Gloomy Day

The boys away in their cabin, avidly look up Hurricanes in the South.

Light shoots from their windows and skylight.

Bricks and dirt are firmly planted amid the flowers of the night.

A door creeks, 

And I ascend the ladder to my room, turn on some Old French Chant,

and breath the window air, as warm light rests upon faded wood paint,
...and listen to the harmonies blending and dancing, filling up this loft,
touching every book and lamp;

while everything within this little 1/4 acre Sanctuary called home

welcomes the calm, sureness of the night.

Goodnight moon.
[camping is nice, but it's good to be home]