Weekend's End

One light is on in the house. One set of fingers clicks on a keyboard. Only one set of many that did the same during the day.

The street outside is quiet. No lights shine in the windows of the houses across the street, only the cold glow of the streetlight overhead. The silhouette of the pointy-leafed agarita stands motionless in the still winter night. The temperature is dropping, but there are many leaves blown in and gathered at its base.

The dog has gladly gone to bed. And the little boy (gone long ago). And the big boy, too, asleep instantly as soon as he lay down -- a welcome post-sleepover benefit. And the turning and cover-pulling of the girls in the living room has settled down, allowing grateful parents to retire. The temperature is dropping, but there are blankets enough for all.

One set of fingers still clicks on a keyboard in the light of one last light. But those fingers are slowing. And that light will soon be off.

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