4:25 a.m.

It’s a Saturday morning.  At 3:30 something woke me up.  But I don’t know what it was.  David was “listening”.   It’s one of those moments where you know something is not right.  But you are not sure what it is.  Normally when something is not right David is content to let me go check it out.   It’s David being secure in his masculinity by letting me be the one to get out of bed and go check out abnormal sounds of the night.

But tonight he heard more than I.  What ever we heard woke me so I wasn’t sure what I heard.  I think he was already awake when he heard the noise.

My heart skipped a beat not by the sound so much, as by him getting out of bed to go check on the noise.

This caused me concern.

David never feels it necessary to check on the noise.

The noises usually don’t concern him.

Or he doesn’t hear them.

Tonight he heard.  Hushed.  Soft on his feet he goes through the house.  Which is quiet in it’s aloneness.   No children, not a one, in the house.  They have all scattered to other places for the evening.  The house seems extra large.  Extra quiet.  Extra vulnerable with less people in it.

The fact that David is being so cautious and quiet raises my alarms even more than if I had actually heard the noise and reacted on my own.

He made his way back to the bedroom and went to the window.   There under the watchful eyes of the house windows lay the casualty of the night.

Our shrubbery and trees on “this end” of the house.  Plastered by fifty tons of snow that had cascaded off of the roof and squashed the once tall tree like things (though I don’t know if they are actually trees) in front of the house.