Back to school for little hands and feet, for little minds and hearts.

Each were off to different schools this morning and for two of them, the day is an unknown. Last night were little girl tears of apprehension, and teenage outbursts of irritation; both from the same source, unbeknownst to them: fear.

I listened and smiled by turn, shaking my head in understanding and confessing my own apprehensions of the fifth and tenth grades. Minds relaxed and the choking fear subsided into a gleeful giggle as the smell of pancakes and the glow of candle lighted an early morning start.

But they will never know the howling of quiet that blows through this house as I tidy up in their wake. They will never know the surprising emptiness that follows the departure of their demanding intensity.

I click on the dishwasher and throw cloth napkins in the wash; I open windows to air out, plump pillows and wipe down bathrooms. And still, a paralyzing fear creeps up my own back, as it has crept upon women for generations before me; a paralyzing fear that here, in this new silence, there is no one needing you. And kindly neighbors call out your liberation - you smile and nod - of course they're right!

And yet the rain falls outside my window as it falls inside my heart, and this plank of future becomes mine to walk.