The Waking Hour

I am sitting in the dark, reading, with a spot light on my book. The Man is upstairs, working, with the door closed. It's gone dark out. We have not turned on the lights.

Then The Boy walks in the front door from school. He says, Hey parents! and flicks on the living room lights. I get up and turn on the kitchen light. I see a sinkful of dishes and turn on the light above the counter so I can do the dishes. The Man comes downstairs. I turn on the hall light so he can see. He turns on the radio in the kitchen. The Boy is singing to himself, opening a parcel that arrived for him earlier. The phone rings. It's for The Boy. He turns on the TV. The Man and I talk about what to make for dinner.

I guess often, the house comes alive when The Boy gets home.