The house is quiet. While my family sleeps, the only sounds I can hear are the fans in each room moving the night air and cooling us quite comfortably. My fingers click on the laptop keys, but the sound is almost impossible even for me to hear over the turbine sounding fan in our bedroom or the semi-squeaky ceiling fan above me. The little pedestal fan to my right hardly makes a whisper. Occasionally, a sound from outside enters. A car passing by, a dog bark, and then, way off in the distance somewhere, a siren.
I love this time of night. I love the silence, the solitude, and especially when I look around my home and see swept floors, clear counters, straightened cushions, and know that everything is in its place. It’s an amazing feeling. It’s as though I can tell, by the silence, the order, and the slight scent of Clorox drifting in from the bathroom that all is right with the world. To me, times like this are the embodiment of the word serenity.