Today as I sat in the rocking chair and watched my family pack up the car and drive away I realized how similar I felt to the man they were driving toward. Sitting in his chair at the window, watching the ones he loves pack up and leave. Facing once again the long hours when the only human noise in the house is that which he produces.
I was reminded of something a friend said to me when I went to visit him, about how I am fast becoming the same as the ladies who stop at my Farmers' Market booth; those who talk to me about their favorite wool to spin or how they turn a heel. And for a moment, watching my parents pull out of my driveway, I felt that perhaps this solitary winter I had become that old man sitting in his chair, or those old ladies, knitting socks just to pass the time. That what had been only the space of months for most had passed as years and years in my heart.