#136
In the quiet house, the walls are matte white. The afternoons in the living room are warm, the carpet is a soft beige. Arranged north/south, the sun tracks from window to window.
In the quiet house, no radio plays. No TV blares its news. No voices cut through the walls. Neighbors, miles away, elsewhere. Outside the quiet house, a pear tree, heavy with fruit. Berries in the summer. A lake. A green canoe.
The woodland trails call out. Cleared with care. Tended. Miles to walk, but never tiring. Sometimes a deer.
In the quiet house, a smell of safety. Of calmness. No questions here, only welcomes. A meal always offered. Rest darling, under the ceiling fan.
In the quiet house, the world falls away. Not because you ask it to, but because that’s what the house is for. The quiet house, a home you don’t want to leave.
The matte white walls.
The matte white walls in the quiet house.