The silence

Last night's blessed rain continues a light drizzle this morning. I recall thunder during the night bringing Claudette into her "safe place" between my knees and thighs.

The new grass is outgrowing even the weeds but I fear the new soil will be too saturated to permit Frank to mow it once more.  And who knows when he can come back to do it.  Like all of us his aging seems to sap more energy by the day.

Though a weekend the morning is silent. I recall how much I treasured that when I first moved to the lake. It is not as exotic but reminds me of my brother's account of a solitary driven then hike up a Chilean mountain. "perfectly silent"

I long for the chatter of others but treasure the silence.  So humans are made.