Learn to be still

The fog rises from the forest, robing the naked silhouettes of maples, oaks. My daughter finally dozes on the couch, hoping to dream herself beyond the vestiges of a stomach bug. I have sent my husband and son off on the train to Manhattan to museum with some friends. The house is empty, except for the fleece-clad sleeping bundle on the sofa. There is an imposed quiet to this day, an unexpected and welcome peace in amidst a mother's concern. We have been here before. There is nowhere to go. Our course is clear. We must stay still, rest through this, and heal.