I am surrounded by a silence that can only occur when I am not responsible for another breathing member of the house.

A silence that I fill by folding my clothes and tucking them into my suitcase.

A silence that I fill by arranging my jewelry on the marble dresser top.

A silence that I fill with the clink of water glass, the type of keyboard, the shuffle of slippers on oriental carpet.

I am relishing the silence that is all mine to fill.

And when I pause, hover my fingers over keys, and even stop my own breathing, my ears hum a happy little silent hum.  Relishing.  Listening.  Appreciating.

Silence can be so very restorative, if I pay attention to it, sip it in measured doses, and appreciate it for being the auditory equivalent of a string tied around a finger.  Silence reminds me of fill.

Fill of laughter.

Fill of conversation.

Fill of whining.  Of fighting.  Of yelling.  Of apologizing.

Fill of pans banging, cleaners squirting, microwaves beeping.

Fill of night trains and day barges.  Fill of fire truck and bus brakes.  Fill of dogs and cats and chipmunks and squirrels.

Fill of lawn mowers.  Of leaf blowers.

Fill of doors opening.  Closing.

Fill of radios, TVs, cell phones vibrating with texts and calls and reminders.

The silence reminds me of what life is full of and empties me out so I can start filling all over again.

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One Comment

  1. Jo said:

    Beautiful. The one defines the other.

    October 25, 2015

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