We’ve been having a lot of rain.  Reminds me of Richard Harris as King Arthur in his singing/saying way, ‘the rain may never fall till after midnight, by eight, the morning fog must disappear….I know it gives a person pause, but in Camelot, those are the legal laws…’ sadly, in North Carolina the rain pours usually between 3 pm and 5pm and it comes down with the ferocity of a firehose making pond-szied puddles, felling  trees and creating lots of debris.

Last night  I was aware of a change-up,  thunder accompanied by rain and  lightening I suppose. It wasn’t the thunder that woke me, but  Keery flopping her head on my leg.  But when I awoke this morning it was quiet.

There are many quiets.   Quiet in a  church which I always feel as anticipation, hopefully of grace, but probably of forgiveness.  Or, the quiet of a night where you may hear a snap of a twig which may be scary. Or  the croak of a frog you might find comforting or just annoying.

There’s the quiet as in All Quiet on the Western Front which means a lull in the awfulness of war.

And, if you have been a parent, there  is the always impressive quiet you hear when your seven year old kid, with her five year old sister, is downstairs in the basement playroom and you know, with the certainty that you will have to pay taxes this year, that this is Not Good…but you wonder if you are up to actually even opening the door!

Then there is the quiet in the morning after, as when we were in Massachusetts,  of a huge blizzard before the chainsaws start, or, as in last night, of  a huge rainstorm.  As I move to wakefulness I have questions.  I listen to Keery snore or Tom ‘lol, breathe heavily’.  I personally LOVE this quiet. It’s not ominous. Nor is it benign.

It is speculative quiet.  What may be quiet. Story quiet.

Are we still on this planet? Are we floating in space inside a forcefield that holds atmosphere? Oh my gawd, will that atmosphere run out or  turn toxic?  What do they look like, these beings who were able to just lift our house out of the ground? Wil they be nice? Are we experiments?  Why us? I mean, we’re cool and all, but seriously? why us? Was it a mistake?  If not a mistake, what can we offer beings who could lift our house right off the planet?

There is that moment in this quiet where I hesitate. I don’t want Keery to stir.  I don’t want Tom to stop his rhythmic breathing. I want to stay right  here, snuggled in my blankets, surrounded by the familiar, the memories, the ordinary,  seeing the extraordinary in the quiet. I want my imagination to soar. I want to savor what is possible only in this quiet.