The day is soft,
Today I feel no tenseness in the air. The TV is off, Edgar off to work, all animals fed and resting in the calm that reigns under the padding of the rain. On not a very cold, razor-skin cold day that is typical for November, the air sliding in through my open window feels mild, mind-moist--comfortable.
As I write this entry, our new pup, Stewie, plays quietly on his bed, a prelude to cozying into a nap. Donnie the duck, no doubt, is paddling silently around his kiddie pool in his barn stall. Lately when I visit Donnie, he babbles in a strange language. His peeping has morphed into hoarse, duck-like squawks. My baby is growing up.
Should anyone tip-toe into our barn habitated by myriad cats, Donnie, four horses, and seven pot-bellies, he or she could savor the silence--especially in today's rain-cushion. Everyone is at peace--only rest on the mind. That's what is so settling about, so comforting about living with livestock and other animals: as long as they are well fed, sheltered, and in good company, be it animal or human, their world is at ease.
Imagine, in contrast, a room with so many people. What a cacophony of discussion and competition: rehashing workaday woes, bragging about each's gifted children, retelling efforts of multi-tasking, trips to the grocery store and the casino, talking of engines, cars, or the latest technological devices--arguing politics.
Unfortunately, I'd guess that we humans are not content most of the time. We sometimes feel uncomfortable under the umbrella of a soft rain like this. For many of us, the rain is a hindrance, a nuisance to our tasks. We need; we want; we seek; and we converse until we drop, dead-tense, into bed at night. We fail to hear the silence of the rain.
But today I'm embracing this gift of the padding mistlets--the soft sounds of silence. The rain has made me more malleable in mind and more sensitive--this rain that reflects a muffled-melody on a blanket of leaves: background music for my sleeping pup and my thoughts.