Everyone has gone to work or school except me. Daughter is on spring break - out on an overnight adventure with friends. I have a day off work. The house is quiet. The dog and cat snooze, post-breakfast. On the counter, 30 minutes out of the toaster oven, the toasted almonds still crackle lightly on the plate, reminding me they are to be eaten with some apple slices and yogurt (later). My coffee cup is empty. The furnace has turned itself off for the day (I'll turn it back on later). The computer desk is littered with a week's leavings of papers important in the moment but disposable now. The Quick Tax software (seal unbroken) will wait for later this week. Someone used packing tape and scissors - I wonder what for? On the kitchen counter, there are two heavy crystal vases, now empty, waiting to be washed and put back on shelves. Spent bouquets perfume the kitchen trash (to be taken out later). The computer hum and click of keyboard are the noisiest things in the house. There's a receipt on the counter, reminding me I owe my son $40 from when he put gas in my car Sunday. I'm wondering how many steps to the bedroom, to my notebook, and back to the couch to write for a while - before the apples and the almonds and the coffee and the vases and the furnace (well, maybe I'll turn the furnace back on, on my way to the couch). This quiet is nice. I don't want to make a ripple. I'll move carefully and quietly and keep it this way, until later.
question: when (and where) do you find quiet?
mompoet - right here, in quiet, right now