Bedtime

Her arm drapes across my chest and her hand nestles in my right armpit. My arm is draped over hers and I’m gently kneading her biceps. Silently we lie together and listen to the wind. It’s a gentle rustle outside our north bedroom window, the leeward side of the house. But from the south window, which I’ve nearly closed, leaving it only a centimeter ajar, the wind murmurs mostly, yet periodically interrupts itself with an eerie howl or low-keyed moan.

She pulls away from me, turning over while whispering ‘Good night.’

Indeed it is.