Under the Arch

The only time I would consider where my parents live as quiet is when the fog rolls in and insulates the house from the rest of the world . Even the birds seem confused by the suddenly smaller world they are inhabiting and take a break from carrying on.

The air seems heavier and a walk through the yard will cover you in a light mist, eyelashes blinking against the wet. For once, this house in the middle of no where seems truly isolated and lonely. Hushed and waiting.

The quiet doesn't last, though. The sun will come out of hiding and burn off the fog. The birds will wake up from their naps and once again dive bomb each other in competition for the feeders making more racket than anything that small has a right to.

Nothing lasts forever. Life gets in the way. The sun comes out and the real world intrudes on my weather induced peace and quiet.