resting

The house is finally quiet. I am alone in my room, and the windows are open, letting in the symphony of night things and air entwined. The fan captures their melody and sprays it over my sweat soaked skin, bringing my nipples to attention. In the distance, yard dogs gossip with one another about their day, not close enough to cause an annoyance. Evening has brought with it a calm. The myriad of problems that swallowed my day have melted, so that not a trace remains. At this exact moment, as the curtains lift themselves in dance away from the night, I find that I cannot recall any singular stressing factor from my life.

Indeed, there is no offense lurking in the closet, no deadline rushing at me headfirst, and no petulant children beckoning me to their side. This moment is perfect. The intersection of complete contentment and physical comfort, where nothing more than this is needed or yearned for. No meditative guides, no soothing sounds seeping through speakers.

A train whistle bellows and is echoed. The hum of the discs massaging the tracks moans like a lullaby to my soul, and I close my eyes and rest.

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