It's a quiet morning, now. Early this morning I was awakened by crashing thunder that shook the house. The next loud wave brought Sophie to my bed. Now, it's two hours later. The rain is still falling, and everyone else is still asleep. Even the dogs didn't want to go outside after their breakfast but lay back down on their comfy beds for further snoozing.
The house is quiet, except for the rain outside. No television, no radio, no video games. The dishwasher, clothes washer, and dryer are not yet in use. I should make breakfast, my growling tummy confirms that, but I hate to disrupt the quiet. All too soon little feet and bigger feet will be making their way down the hallway in search of nourishment. Then the furry feet will be everywhere at once, greeting each riser and pleading for a walk. Then, when the quiet is already disturbed, I will cook.
I think of my to-do list for today. Much of it is outside my house. Outside, it is raining. Cars are driving by, splashing through puddles in the street. Hills will be slippery. People will be in a hurry, trying in vain to stay dry. Errands can wait. Inside my house, it is dry. And quiet.
I need the quiet. It has been lacking lately. Quiet is calming. Quiet is restoring and refreshing.
Quiet is good.