By Marni Battista, MAEd, CPC
There is the sound a door makes when it closes. To the ear it can be heard simply as one sound, a final beat of the drum, but what I hear in my mind is not so much that singular noise. When really listening, I hear the door closing in slow mo. If that is even a thing, hearing, in slow mo.
I can feel it too, of course, that final closure. I have known it was coming, after all. I may have heard it before it, possibly anticipating the weightiness, the sweeping dramatic finality, labeled and categorized as a phase of life: The Empty Nest. The motion of the door swinging shut leaves me with what feels like the breeze of the Maui wind coming in off the ocean on my salty skin just before sunset when the air has an imprint of heat on it. I hear, too, the series of staccato beats as it hits the frame, the metallic click, the sound it makes just before the air is pushed out as the door seals. An era over. Sealed. Shut. (more…)