Repose

A slight increase in the temperature has reactivated the cricket this evening. I listened to it for a while, as the gibbous moon grew bright and the water drops beading the freshly sprinkled lawn reflected the light. The town sinking into sleep sent few vagrant sounds to disturb the night-- an occasional car passing along a nearby street, a barking dog, a door clicking shut against the cooling air-- and the quiet intervals lengthened, until the image came to my mind of billowing layers of silk descending slowly, to hush all that might violate the repose of this placid, moonlit landscape. Brocade of light and shadow, softened by thin haze, slowly crept about the foot of every tree and spindly bush. The pines were utterly still as the breeze held its breath.

Then my cat appeared, returned from some nocturnal exploration, and brushed against my leg, purring. For a moment, she, too, seemed rapt by the serenity, but then, with a sudden dart, she romped across the yard and scaled the trunk of the mulberry tree, claws loudly scratching the bark. Then she leaped to earth and ran some more, back and forth, displaying manic energy. I had to laugh. Clearly, a cat has its own ideas of the proper use for peaceful moments. The night absorbed her feline delight, and somehow remained as serene as ever. Clearly, a cat knows the nature of the night.

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Repose

51/85: Stuck

51/84: Incompetence

51/83: Rumble Rumble

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