08.19.14  When the dogs next door awakened me with their barking at 11:30 p.m. last night, my first irritating thought was that they would awaken our guests sleeping upstairs.  For the third morning in a row, when I opened my eyes this morning in the dim light, I tried to remember who’s still here in the house.

It’s a slow process, moving from room to room, remaking the beds for the winter months, dusting furniture, collecting bits of “treasure” left behind like hair ties and Lego pieces, richly colored pages from coloring books and Duncan’s elaborate drawings of fairies and mythical beasts.  The mantel clock in the sitting room has wound down and it’s quiet, cool and bathed in beautiful morning light from the woods.  The windows to the lake in the bedrooms are open enough to hear the lapping of the water against the shore, and I glance outside when I hear a boat go by, surprised it’s still summer.  There’s a time-out-of-time spell on the house right now–ghosts are upstairs.