It's a rare moment of quiet, now - or as quiet as it gets in our piece of the world. The baby is down for a much needed nap, trying to fight off a cold; big sister is off at school, her trumpet case on the floor by her bed, waiting to be taken up for practice as soon as she breezes in.
Quiet is such an important thing for me - the cessation of noise, a break from the constant intrusion of the world. We lost power for an hour or so the other night during a massive September storm, and once the girls were tucked in bed by candlelight and I settled in myself it hit me just how quiet it was. No hum from appliances, no radio, no chatting - unadulterated quiet. I could feel my body unclench, muscles I didn't realize were tense relaxed, and I sighed as I just luxuriated in the absence of sounds.
I vaguely recall seeing an article online the other day that suggested that blocks of quiet time were essential for the brain to reset itself and process all the stimuli it receives throughout the day. I can absolutely attest to the validity of this. The small person is still sharing space in the bedroom while we remodel her new room upstairs, and part of her nighttime routine is having the radio set to the local NPR affiliate, which plays classical and jazz most of the night. I didn't think much of it until I read the article, but it hit me that there is almost no time during the day where I get to really enjoy quiet, even while sleeping. Last night I made it a point to shut off the radio around midnight, and I slept better than I had in some months. I think the baby did, too, if her waking at 6:30 instead of 5 was any indication.
Breathing. Enjoying the quiet. Getting to just be.