Late Afternoon

No new books this week for me, so I'm sending you all home with a piece I wrote when I was home with three very small children.

Small mercies are the most important.

         There is something about late afternoon.       

         It is the time after school, before dinner needs to be started.  The time before your husband is home from work, yet not so much before that you despair in your loneliness and frustration with the kids.  The eldest does homework, perhaps. The younger children play quietly, or watch television, and the shadows are long on the driveway; you have a cup of tea at your elbow and nothing much needing to be done.

         There is something about late afternoon.

         Friends have gone home, but the house still swells with their laughter and presence.  Crumbs have been swept up and there is always laundry to do, but that can wait, and it’s much too late in the day to pull out the vacuum.  The dogs sleep peacefully on their mats, the light in the sitting room is on and the sun drops behind the clouds, sending lazy fingers of light through the kitchen blinds.

         There is something about late afternoon.

It holds the promise of long evenings in winter, the pulled curtains of the night, bedtime stories, pajamas and a soft pile of children on the sofa.  Soft breath, sweet skin, hugs and kisses then bedtime.

There is no need to look beyond that.  The tea cools.  Now is suspended, a breath exhaled.

There is something about late afternoon.