I get up early so I can make my coffee to the sound of the refrigerator's low rumble alone, and watch the sun come up above the tree line silently.
I stay up late so my husband and I can finish our thoughts and have a complete conversation.
Of course, the silence is perfect only in small doses for me. Too long in the quiet and it actually becomes deafening to my untrained ears that are so accustomed to loud.
The best quiet moments are the most fleeting-- I treat the littles to chocolate almond milk, and while they munch on their snacks we all gaze out at the fountain down below. We're just together, and I take it all in, reading a few sentences and catching the napkins that almost blow away.
Moments later, of course, they're off and running, both their feet and their question-filled minds. That's fun, too. But it's certainly special to soak in the rare moments with them of sweet silence.
“Have you ever heard the wonderful silence just before the dawn? Or the quiet and calm just as a storm ends? Or perhaps you know the silence when you haven't the answer to a question you've been asked, or the hush of a country road at night, or the expectant pause of a room full of people when someone is just about to speak, or, most beautiful of all, the moment after the door closes and you're alone in the whole house? Each one is different, you know, and all very beautiful if you listen carefully.”
― Norton Juster, The Phantom Tollbooth
This is Day 25 of 31 Days of the Life Poetic. View the other posts in this series here.