I sit in this quiet chair in this quiet house alone. Not completely alone—the dog lies to my left, right ear splayed out on the shaggy carpet, his breathing restful. A persistent hum surrounds us both like the gentle song a nursing mother sings over her breastfeeding child. The wind of a passing car swishes by on the street outside. A dog barks sporadically in the distant distance.
The refrigerator starts its funny jiggle and the dog lifts his head to ensure our safety, only to rest it again.
I’m not accustomed to such peace, such quietness, such solitude. But right now … right now it feeds my soul.