It's a little after six in the morning, and I'm thinking about the fact that one of my children is as far west as you can get in the continental United States (Los Angeles), and the other is journeying (as I write) as far east as you can get (Boston). Michael and Ben are in a fully-loaded Prius, getting what I imagine to be 57 miles per gallon, while I am here In the mid-west, fulfilling obligations (I have a wedding to play this evening), and contemplating the space and the relative silence around me.
It's only relative silence because I hear the early chattering of other mothers who, perhaps, have just seen the last of their fledglings fly off for the first time. I feel a sense of pride that both our fledglings are making their way in the world, and that they are both fully equipped to have their grown-up adventures and make their own grown-up decisions. My nest may be empty, but my heart is very full.
If you haven't heard them before, you can listen to my fledglings sing.