It is quiet. Quiet in a way I rarely experience these days.
The boys are resting , lights are dimmed, and the hum of traffic on the highway breezes through the open window. The blinds click against the windowsill as the breeze tousles the curtains. The sound of my husband pounding nails into the floorboards and sliding furniture across the basement floor are the only noises that punctuate this mesmerizing symphony.
To me, this is heaven.
I am wont to wonder, though, if this is heaven \why I spend so many hours filling up this delicious silence with the noisy energy of the television, computer work, radio, and constant chatter.
If this is readily available, why do I only deserve it on the rarest of occasions?
I was pretty young when I first thought I'd like to shuck this complicated life, move to the hills, and live off the land. Perhaps it had something to do with being a self-conscious, sensitive kid. But there is something appealing to the rhythm of life in sync with it's surroundings, dependant only on one's own efforts and the forces of nature to survive.
In college, Emerson and Thoreau beckoned, wooing me with promises of a life lived to the fullest in harmony with my surroundings. To stop the eternal fight against nature and give in to its rhythm.
Two children and a lifetime from then, I am thankful for the advances in technology and to not have to live with the prospect of losing a child to the ravages of nature.
But there is a balance to be struck.
A balance between a life enhanced by our resources and one imprisoned by them.
I think I may just spend a few more evenings in silence.