It’s quiet. Too quiet.

Michelle has been out at church scrapbooking since 6:30pm, and Isabella finally went to sleep an hour after that. Who knows where Kevin (the Cat) is off to, anyways?

I spent the evening watching 1984 (the film with Richard Burton and John Hurt), which was pretty good, albeit bleak and depressing. The director got the dismal tone nailed, but I felt that I’d have been lost by the screenplay had I not read the book already.

Now, I’m sitting at my dining room table, and marvelling at how quiet this house can be. There are two living beings inside this house besides me, but none are making any noise. All I can hear is the sound of my own fingers tapping at the keyboard, the click!… click!… click! of the quartz clock on the shelf, and the occasional creak of my chair as I shift my weight. There are dogs barking in the distance, and, occasionally, the droning wind outside.

Usually, Michelle and I are too busy catching up on the TiVo to hear any of this, so it’s nice (but a bit jarring) to experience the quiet.

Listen…