For the quiet

Last night I spent the evening talking and listening. It was a fascinating meeting with people I can learn from- deserving of its own special post.

But tonight I'm home, everyone is long ago in bed, and as I think about this post, I can't help noticing the quiet.

We are in the city, so quiet is not absolute  as it is in the country, where it is associated for me with good smells, deep dark nights. 

Even so, if I am still now, I can hear myself breath lightly. And there is a sense of well being, knowing that there are people nearby, in fact all over, under, to each side of this building, and down below, but right here I'm quiet alone.

What a luxury to have quiet. To breath deeply. To have a moment that is not filled.

What does quiet mean? An absence of not only sound, but adverse conditions.

I've read stories of war and the relentless noise. The noises are loud, terrible, unpredictable. The quiet is never real, just waiting for more.

And I know about more harmless noises. The screech of babies wailing. The dizzying buzz when people oversaturation happens, sometimes at small parties or in crowded restaurants. The traffic noise-especially on a crowded street during a big city rain. 

Having quiet means a place to be alone. How fortunate. I've seen families of four living in one room and read about much worse. How wonderful to have spaces and times alone.