Late on a windy Night

It's late on a windy night when the house is hushed and quiet. The family dog is sleeping on the twin bed set up here in my office. My husband is asleep in the other room and a night wind howls around the corners of the house like a lost soul searching out a safe haven. I told my grandson one time that our house doesn't have any ghosts and I believe that. I don't think anyone likely died in this house. It was a summer cottage which eventually got added on to and winterized and became a lake house. People came here to have fun and enjoy themselves on hot summer days. One of the previous owners was an engineer and his wife was a painter and if any spirits are here, then theirs might be because I've found myself taking up painting again and am enjoying it a great deal. My husband and I also do a lot of gardening in the summer as did they and my husband is an engineer.
But those people sold the cottage when it got to be too much for them and moved closer to their children, so they left behind vibes of contentment and the peace of acceptance and wise joy. I'm sure this house has echoed with the laughter and shrieks of their grandchildren as it does with mine.
That's a good feeling to have. We've been here nearly forty years now and this old house has sheltered and sustained us. it's our home, so much a part of us we can't envision living anyplace else. It's part of who we are and what we made of ourselves and our marriage and family. When our grandson comes he enjoys himself here because I think he feels the same love and stability. He picks raspberries in the summer with his grandfather and helps in the garden and plays along the shoreline and goes canoeing and boating and bicycling with grandpa. He helps me make cookies and eats big thick slice of my home made bread. He runs and plays until his little body grows hot with the sweet smell of little boy sweat and then he grabs something to drink or a frozen popsicle and starts over again.
Now a granddaughter who lives close by comes over and runs around in the yard, her fat little baby legs doing their best to keep up with big brother, her fine baby hair blowing in the breeze. Big brother puts her in a wagon and pulls her around and up a hill and all the way, her little hand is pointing at the ground. She wants out to run and go under her own steam. What laughter! At times like this you think about God and the reason he puts us on earth and you ask, why me? Why am I given such joy? Why am I so blessed?