All Is Quiet

 

I am quiet. Like a cat.

Indeed, both my cats sit by the bay window while I indulge in my morning routine of reading the paper and working the crossword puzzle while sipping two mugs of coffee. All is quiet.

The daffodils and hyacinths are quiet. Today’s snow flurries are quiet. Yesterday’s wind is quiet. I read in quiet. I eat in quiet. There is no music, no television, no phone calls. I hear only tapping on the keyboard as I write and the sounds of birds, my breathing and footsteps as I walk.

As an introvert I’m usually content with solitude and quiet. But I feel unsettled. I am in some kind of in-between space where quiet is called for, where quiet is the measure of the expanse. But what lays across the expanse? On this side it is bookended with my time as a public official. While I don’t miss the daily grind of work, I do miss being a public official, a woman of influence in the larger world.

I wonder where this space I’m in will lead. What is it that awaits my involvement? As broth on the stove simmers quietly, so does the broth of my soul. If only I could discover what broth my soul is making.

The bubbles of this internal broth disquiet me. The ambiguity disconcerts me. I contemplate but am uninspired.

I conclude that nothing can be done but bear it until it resolves.