Except for Sam, I am alone here at 411. (Until Tuesday anyway, when Mike and John arrive from Covington/New Orleans.) There are noises in this old house. When I walk from the kitchen to the living room and pass over the spot where Dad fell in 2012; I hear what sounds like it could be: crying; a kitten's meow; or, a small cry for help.
In the last week or so, the wind chimes have been ringing in the room that I've made my own for work and sleeping. This room began as our dining room. When Nannie lived with my family before she died; it was her room. Most recently, it became Mom and Dad's room in the years when steps became impossible.
I'm often in the kitchen when I hear them. Sometimes, I'll hear them from the living room.
There are lots of logical reasons for these sounds: old creaky floors; Sam running around; Sam snoring; maybe the furnace starting up and shaking the house; Sam moving around on the base of the lamp where the wind chime hangs; and/or, perhaps a draft from an open door or loose window.
So when I sat at my desk writing about my buddy and Mom earlier in the week; I didn't think too much about the wind chimes chiming. I'd finished writing his story and putting a post-it in the jar with MOM on it when I realizled that they'd chimed.
I looked around for Sam. She was asleep in the kitchen. I hadn't kicked the radiator cover as I wrote. There were no doors or windows open or cracked. Nonetheless, our chimes rang at the end of that story and a loved one made an important visit. I always hold him close. I know he holds us close too. Wishing you a Sunday filled with the love of those you've loved who have passed on before you. Let them hold you close and feel their love for you. It's important.