It’s late Sunday morning and I finally find a moment to dig into the novel that’s been sitting on my coffee table for a week or two. Paradise!
After a while I realize how quiet it is and I stop to appreciate it. What do I hear?
The whir of the fan.
The tick tock of the clock.
The whistling respirations and occasional rustle of my dreaming, napping dog.
The hum of the refrigerator.
The faint birdsong of a Mockingbird.
The squawking of a company of wild parrots.
Distant, faint traffic noise.
The sound of a jet flying 30,000 feet in the air.
And I should be able to hear the sound of my washer and dryer working.
So much for the quiet. I was glad to have it and it was nice while it lasted.