Quiet

As we make our way down the rolling hills of the field after our hike through the woods, I found a flat spot among the hay dried and pressed from the weight of winter and I lay quietly on my back.  Arms spread.  My eyes gaze at the blue hole being swallowed by the surrounding cloudy puffs. The rain is coming.  For now, I enjoy this moment.  With my body quiet, I seem to hear more keenly.  The hum of traffic from afar, ducks in squawk, then quiet almost a hum.   In the distance a woodpecker taps after his supper.  Persistent.  I lay this way for a bit and breathe in and out in a slow, slow, rhythm. 

The walk back to the car is slow.  My husband reaches for my hand and we amble down the muddy steep bank to the stream.  I hear the roar.  I do not remember the stream this way when I first arrived.  It is hard to miss the roar now. 

For me, quiet fills my senses with all that I am grateful.