We live at the end of a 900 foot driveway along a meandering, shallow river making its way to the Atlantic Ocean. We have no neighbors to the north or east. There is a neighbor to the south through trees and a neighbor to the west through a ravine and more trees. With no traffic and retired neighbors on only two sides it is a very quiet place to live.
Tonight small snowflakes continue their monk like journey to our lawn. The neighbors are tucked away in their homes waiting for the weather to clear. Freezing temperatures still the river. Our dog sits at the dining room window contemplating when her master will come home. The only sound is the rap-tat-tat of my fingers flying over the keyboard. It is still and I am appreciating this bit of time I have to collect my thoughts.
There was a time that I disliked quiet. It made me very uncomfortable. When our children were living at home, there was always noise, excitement, chatter, arguing, clanging and clattering, and some type of medium blaring. If the kids and my husband went away, I would wander aimlessly around the house waiting for them to return not knowing what else to do. I yearned for noise and never appreciated quiet.
Now, however, I have learned to drink up a bit of tranquility. I know how to focus on my reading, writing, or just sit and think. I watch for birds, foxes, and deer. I notice the ice floes that move upstream instead of downstream. I listen for owls sending out their mating calls. I think about our kids and wonder what they are doing at this very minute or remember something about them that makes me smile. I imagine my husband and I on our upcoming vacation...where we will go...what we will do.
The quiet is blissful...and an important part of this life I now live.