The Sound of a Quiet House

The cool, crisp weekday morning

when the children are off to school

and my husband is toiling away at work.

The windows have been cracked open

letting the sweet chill into my house.

There are no children squawking or screaming,

no television caterwauling endlessly on

about nothing in particular.

There is only the gentle breeze

rattling the trees outside

and the occasional chirping of birds.

The only other sound I can hear

is the sound of my peaceful, relaxed breathing.

It’s the sound of a quiet house.

The pastel yellow walls glow in the sunshine

and the ions they conceal sing in silence.

The cool morning air

kisses my skin and caresses my being.

And as I turn the pages of the book I have waited

all night long to continue reading,

my heart swells like a balloon.

This is a sound I am grateful for.

Before I know it, the children will be home

from school, and my husband home from work,

and the flapdoodle will begin anew.

This sound, of silence, of peace, of quiet,

is also a sound of renewal, of rejuvenation.

This is what heaven must sound like.

A quiet house.