A very quiet house, indeed.
The only noise is a buzzing fridge and my voice while conducting a one-sided conversation with Family Dog. Don't get me wrong, I love a good bout of sturdy argumentation, but it's nice when someone just listens to what you have to say and then licks your face.
The only noise besides a buzzing fridge and my voice while conducting a one-sided conversation with Family Dog is the wind outside, the chatter of the neighbor's chickens, the cars on the highway, the jets in the sky, the coffee machine burping, the clicking of the keyboard under my fingertips, a yard tool off in the distance, and the hum of the air conditioning unit.
And of course there are the voices inside my head, the ones that make these words possible.
Strange how noticeable all of the little sounds become without the usual, prominent noises that fill the air on a daily basis.
A hearty Jazz Hands deployment makes no noise, if you are wondering. Hand jazzing is a very quiet and peaceful venture, save for the subtle pop of underused arm joints and rustling of my shirt's fabric and my shouting the words "Jazz Hands!" and Family Cat's justifiable judgment.
And of course there are the voices inside my head.
A very quiet house, indeed.
Today's Jazz Hands were deafening. Day one-hundred and ninety-six complete.
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