The Night Has Only Begun

It was dark out.

It would have been quiet if not for the occasional cars passing by the road across the lake nearby, and the small cricket complaining of his loneliness. Inside, by the window, sheltered from the dark, she was sitting on the couch reading in the little light that the lamp next to her offered. The night had barely began. Two pages in her book, her mind wandered off:  There were too much to think about, to worry for, to accomplish and the pages of her book were losing the battle.

She closed her eyes and I listened for any sound, perhaps the quiet sound of nursery door closing.

His fingers reached for mine.

 The room is silent. There is no sound from the road, or the lake nearby, or the lonely cricket.

The night has only begun.