A quiet Sunday stretches out before me; a day full of nothing, but well, nothing. Plans have not been made. The to-do lists of what needs to be done have agreed to be patient with me on this day. Always busy, and on the go, mostly by choice, I heartily welcome this day as does one who is just about to enjoy a perfectly created favorite meal set before them; anxious to dig in and yet desiring to savor every last bit, not wanting it to end.
In these moments, quiet as can be, I hear so much. No television, no music. But yet, so much.
I can hear the season finally starting to change from summer to fall; the gentle shift in the air makes an exquisite sound.
The leaves high in the trees tell me there is an easy breeze to this day.
The shadows, dancing across the grass, are the back up singers to this song; I can almost hear the way the getting-more-golden-by-the-day light of this early autumn day bounces.
My own thoughts in my head, make a variety of sounds; bumping, groaning and popping. Normally much noisier in there than it is today.
Memories sliding, shifting, and in some cases, readjusting. Settling. Resting.
The thundering of a jet high above, transporting people to places far and wide; I conjure the noise of an airport terminal in my mind and appreciate even more the stillness of this moment.
Birds squawking and chirping; carrying on fascinating and important conversations with one another.
Voices of neighbors in nearby homes, all living their own interesting lives, so different and yet so near, to my own.
The hum of cars passing by my urban dwelling, each carrying someone thinking their own thoughts on their way to somewhere. Do they ever have these kinds of quiet days, I wonder?
The clink of of collars and tags jingling as our four-legged friends are taken for a walk down my street.
Yes, it is a quiet Sunday, stretching out before me. And somehow, time seems suspended, and instead of fearing the nothingness, I sit in awe of the everythingness.