The door to the deck is open. I’m on the sofa wearing short sleeve pajamas. It’s cool and crisp outside and now inside too. It’s the perfect night.
At this moment the house is silent. It’s just luck. The refrigerator is quiet. So is the pump for the well.
Planes sometimes fly overhead–jets already at cruising altitude and heading toward Europe. They’re hardly audible when they’re around, but not even that tonight.
It is cool enough to keep the insects and animals we sometimes hear silent as well.
Across from me on her own personal sofa Doppler is quietly curled up. She is breathing rhythmically. I know that from watching, not hearing.
I grew up on the fifth floor of an apartment building in an obscure part of Queens. It was never quiet there!
This semi-rural setting is the antithesis of my experience growing up. So different.
Stillness is a luxury. I’ve grown to appreciate it greatly. It only happens late at night when everyone else is asleep. When you’re nocturnal it’s part of the charm.