A Quiet Sunday

It’s unusually quiet this morning. Being the dead of summer, nearly every window is shut against the heat and humidity. It’s wet. Weeks of rains and high humidity. No children are outside playing. No birds are merrily singing. The drone of each neighbor’s air conditioning unit occasionally is heard. Feeder bands from Gustav stir the trees into a whirl with brief bursts of rain slammed against the windows. Then all is quiet again. My clock flashes 2:37 - reminding me it wants to be reset after the power outage last night. Stormy weather. A distant rumble of thunder, a swirl of the trees and then stillness. The only sound I hear is the click of my keyboard.

Perhaps I shall stay in bed this morning. I enjoy the soft rosy glow of the Indian Peach walls, the salmon colored shears and the golden flicker of the cypress rose scented candles. They add to the pink blush of my crisp cotton bedding. There is a warmth to this room that doesn’t exist outside of these four walls. I feel very safe.