I’m sitting on my porch swing at my new house enjoying the peace and quiet of the beautiful evening.
There are children in most of the surrounding houses, much to my son’s delight (and daughter’s too, even though they’re all her big brother’s age). I can hear the muted sounds of them in the distance playing.
And all I can hear is peace.
Instead of roaring motorcycles circling around our block, where we can hear them the whole way around, there is silence. Well, ok, there is a gold finch fluttering and singing in the tree next to me. And yes, there are cicadas chirping… loudly. If I have to be honest, I’ll admit that I can still hear the sounds of occasional cars on the road… And sure, there goes the obligatory plane overhead (one of the joys of living within miles of an airport).
But there are moments of stillness and peace.
In the midst of it all there’s the rhythmic creak of the swing as it slowly sways back and forth. Even the noisy cicadas have become little more than a lulling hum. And it’s slowly starting to feel like home here. Slowly.
It’s slowly singing the song of peace.