All Quiet on the Western Front

7:00 p.m. I love the way the light filters through the trees and hits the land this time of day.

Of course, the afternoons are pretty too. Especially after a rainstorm.

But 7:00 p.m. is the best hour. It's when I like to take a long walk. I try to be careful around sunset because the mountain animals start roaming. Here, the dog is on the lookout after we hear something rustling in the bushes (just a bird).

Back at the house after the walk, I open the door. Inside it's silent. I look around at the empty house.

Alone.

After a month of staying at The Ark, this is the first day I’m here by myself. I dropped Ron off at the airport after a wonderful vacation – our longest since our honeymoon five years ago.

Now it’s time for me to buckle down and pound out some serious writing. I scoot a chair up the table, open my laptop, and . . . the phone is ringing.

It's my dad.

My husband calls next.

Then my mom.

Then my friend from LA.

Husband again.

Then I notice a tick crawling on my toe and let out an "Eek!" (I flick him away and now I can’t find the little bugger . . . he must be somewhere around the table though).

Finally, things settle down. The sun sets. The dog falls asleep. I begin to write. It’s officially quiet on the western front.