Silence.

The sky is grey outside, though not dark enough to hold a serious threat of rain. Somewhere over the other side of the roof is a clear patch - sunlight hits the damp pavers and the table and outdoor umbrella cast shadows along the wall. Wind chimes jostle gently against each other as they are caught by a slight breeze. Somewhere, a single bird is chirping.
The constant whirring from the fridge and washing machine are the only noises in an otherwise silent house. It feels like the calm that accompanies a storm, though whether it follows last weeks events, or precedes another emotional rollercoaster, or is simply the eye of the storm, I do not know.
What I do know, however, is that it is calm. For now at least.
For the first time in what feels a while, the thoughts that accompany my daily grind, albeit racing ahead at a million miles an hour, have slowed, if not stopped altogether. Maybe then, perhaps it is not the quiet around me that is so unsettling, but that within me.
It is somewhat disconcerting, being so used to so much noise, to suddenly feel like I've had earmuffs put on, so that I can only hear my breath and heartbeat, while everything else is painfully dim.
I feel slow. Maybe that's the dehydration and tiredness talking. I hear one is as bad as the other for cognitive function, let alone both in combination.
I don't feel like me. Or, maybe, this is the start of finding me? I don't know. It's almost like... I've spent so long running ahead, something has finally pulled me back and is making me live in the present, and only the present. I hear some people call it Mindfulness. Jury's still out on that one.
A wise friend told me last week that she thought I would find myself this year. Listening to her life experience has taught me not to question things like this. I didn't really believe it then mind you. Now, however, I'm not so sure.
Something tells me that the next 14 months are going to leave me standing at the finish line a different person.