Sunday mornings I protect the quiet. I still rise around 6:30, still do my feeding chores like other days, still start the coffee in the espresso pot on the stove. But the radio and television remain off.
If the weather cooperates, I sit on the back step with my coffee while the dogs putter in the yard. The cats avail themselves of my lap -- why sit on a hard plank when a squishy cushion is available?
In these moments the bird population takes center stage. Never in the city did I hear such sounds. Until I moved to the country I had never watched a sparrow chase a crow away, or a swallow take on a hawk to protect the babies.
On Sundays the workaday road noise from the highway half a mile down disappears. The farmers across my road remember the Lord's day and keep it holy. I'm not a lordy woman, but I try to honor my core with an hour of quiet.
The dogs bark some times, but at the moment they are peacefully enjoying the quiet with me.
This moment of reflection sets me up for the days tasks. I can think about why I am here in this place, at this time, with these creatures. Despite money worries, and fears of storms, and gradual aging.
And in this reflective hour of quiet, I find that life is good.
This moment of reflection sets me up for the days tasks. I can think about why I am here in this place, at this time, with these creatures. Despite money worries, and fears of storms, and gradual aging.
And in this reflective hour of quiet, I find that life is good.
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