Silence

Ahhh. Sweet silence. The whole household is asleep, even the three cats. I've turned off the TV. This is bliss.

But in the silence, I'm starting to notice that even silence has a sound.

I hear the whir of the computer. I hear the occasional clicking of the light bulbs. Outside, the wind is gusting, sometimes hard enough to rattle the windows, sometimes causing the trees to scritch-scratch against the siding. I hear a train whistle, a siren, a car barreling down the main street that is one house away. My swivel chair squeaks a bit when I move. The ice machine comes to life for a second here and there, even though it's not hooked up to anything. The house settles and creaks. My fingers clack away on the keyboard. Someone upstairs is moving. I only THOUGHT they were all asleep. I hear the thud thud thud on the 89-year old hardwoods.

Sometimes I crave silence. Sometimes, in the car, I'll make a rule: NO MORE TALKING UNTIL WE GET OUT OF THE CAR. It usually lasts about 10 seconds, but I try.

Tonight, it's a funny reality. Here I am, surrounded by the silence that I so often crave, and I don't want it. I'm gonna play a CD. Natasha Bedingfield's "Unwritten". (Thanks, Beth!) But I'm gonna enjoy it in silence. I'm gonna actually be able to LISTEN to it.

Ahhhh. Sweet silence.