Summer House Part IV

I spent the first two nights at Summer House adjusting....to the quiet. It seemed impossible to sleep. In all the years the home had been in my family I couldn't ever recall being completely alone there. Summer House was a constant chorus of children running here and there, people cooking, reading, singing, playing cards, having great debates over minutia and meaningful moments of heartfelt prayer. Silence was a stranger here...perhaps now so was I.

I busied myself making sure there was an adequate amount of firewood and that the heating oil tank was supplied as well. Without proper planning I imagined I could freeze to death in this old house and no one was would notice until a few weeks into the spring thaw, especially since I hadn't told anyone of my plans. I was hoping for moments of peace, but I had only discovered new forms of discomfort.

On that third day the storm came. From the widow's walk I watched it wake across the waters...churning and groaning. A bitter blast erupting out of what had hours earlier been a grey stillness. It was alternately fascinating and frightening...like watching a birth and then realizing you were unsure exactly what was being spawned.

I sheltered the car and shuttered the house. For the first time in months I prayed.

"Heavenly Father I am trapped. Confined by own devices. The storm is coming and I feel alone."

I didn't hear an answer.