There is a silence that transcends the absence of noise to which we are accustomed—at least those of us who live with modern conveniences.  When we rest our heads on pillows at night, even the darkness brings with it a certain acceptable level of sound.  There is the air conditioner or heater, the ceiling fans, the refrigerator or other appliances, and a litany of devices which hum and whirr along even while we sleep, and it is that constant white noise which becomes our companion through life, a background chorus to which we become attuned.  And when that noise stops?  Well, only at that moment do we really acknowledge the cacophony which before had gone relatively unnoticed.

And that brings me to this morning. . .

I awoke with a start around 3 a.m. in response to what I could not tell.  All I knew was that something was amiss.  The world had suddenly changed in a way that disrupted my sleep.

Then I noticed.  I glanced up and saw the ceiling fan slowing and finally stopping.  I noticed the sound of the computers in the other room had disappeared.  I realized I could no longer hear the refrigerator, which I was sure had just been calling out from the kitchen.  And a plethora of other electric voices had fallen silent.  In fact, all of them had been completely muted.

It struck me at that moment that we had once again lost power.  Unlike the last time, however, there was no storm to blame, no hurricane-force gales to point at, and no dance of lightning betwixt earth and heaven which might be the cause.  As a matter of fact, there was only the sound of a few birds trilling in the night and the whisper of winds dancing about.

And now, more than four hours later, the power has finally been restored.

It goes without saying that I’ve been up the whole time.  It’s impossible for me to sleep in still air—at least comfortably and for long.  Without even a fan to push the warming and humid air around, lying in bed proved a fruitless gesture.  I finally arose at four and set about whatever activities could occupy my mind and body in the absence of electricity.

There was cat time, walk-in-the-dark time, standing-on-the-patio time, sitting-on-the-couch-and-wondering time, sitting-on-the-bed-and-pondering time, and generally a great many minutes spent dilly-dallying in absolute darkness.

I brushed my teeth by flashlight.  I played with The Kids in blackness so thick as to be ink.  I stumbled about, nearly fell several times, and ran into more furniture than I care to admit… although I never once stepped on one of the felines, being quite careful in and mindful of such matters.

And now, with the energy song fully restored to the world, I’m going to grab the camera and take a walk at the lake.  I’m already four hours into my day and feel as though I’ve accomplished little outside of quality time with The Kids.  That counts for a great deal, of course.  Nevertheless, it’s time to act on a few other impulses before I’m bogged down in chores and the like.  With a good chunk of the day already behind me, I feel rushed to make up for lost time.