The sun hangs lonely over the muddy browns of our river. It`s dying blood light plays tricks on your eyes, lending a entirely new definition to `sunspots`. The kids are out late tonight. Saturday in a small town when daylight savings works in our favor, and while the house looms its silence around me, it is a silence I welcome.
The boys are in the driveway, tearing apart trucks, seeking the elusive fix before we finally give in and hand over thousands to the back yard mechanics that run the service station up the road. Apparently they`re still willing to work on trucks, though they turn down anything foreign or too late model.
Supper is long past, and in this strange, spring like weather, we have all seemed to forgotten the clock. I will run it out while I can, completely immersing myself in the silence that seems to grow rarer and rarer.
Sandalwood wafts through the air, as the words surface, and soon, hopefully before the return of the noise, a new world will have found itself created. I lose myself to the scent, to the lack of sound and keeping in line with the silence, I whisper a silent prayer of gratitude, and wait for the world to rise.