There is only a muffled drone far away as the streets are quiet.

My cat is curled on the wool blanket quietly.

The rumble of the washer dryer and the evening business is done.

Only a whisper whisper of my keyboard now.

The house is silent.  My mind is quiet.

I feed on it.

The softness of quiet is a fine, rich wine.

It heals better than broth:  from the din of the day and the amplified noise at work.

I settle into the soundlessness of it with gratitude.

Quiet is my comforter and pillow.

Peace and quiet is my recharge.


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