Last night I awoke about 2:30 a.m. to total silence. The electricity had gone off, the ceiling fan that blew the mosquitos away had stopped, there were no electric hums, no street lights, no alarm clock numbers counting off the hours.

Far away, a faint bark of a startled dog.

Down on the avenue, a car motor grew and faded.

Then, nothing. Only my wife's shallow breathing.

Perhaps the silence had awakened me. On our dead-end street, with our house facing a small woods, we are accustomed to quietness. But this was more than quiet, it was real silence.

Now I know why my dad must like the woods.

Ten minutes later, the ceiling fan starts a low whine and winds up to the proper velocity, with the whoosh-whoosh of the blades daring the mosquitos to show their noses. The alarm clock flashes an ominous 12:00 - 12:00 - 12:00.

By this time, Vicki is awake, we check her watch, reset the time and alarm. After all, one can't be late on Sunday morning.

Things get back to normal, and we drift back into slumber.

On our way to church this morning, a road crew was replacing a light post. Evidently, somebody with too much to drink didn't make the curve. (This is the third or fourth time on this avenue in just two to three years.)

I think sadly that I owed my quiet moment in the night to a fool. And he, too, may be hearing, from this world, total silence.

Shortly after five this morning, outlines in the bedroom sharpened as the light began to appear. The days are lengthening. In early September, the bougainvilleas burst into bloom and gradually their color faded into green. The ipês have also come and gone; a single yellow flower hangs on to the tree in our front yard. These harbingers of lushness will now give way to the explosion of breathing green with the regular rains.

"There is no present or future -- only the past, happening over and over again -- now." --Eugene O'Neill, A Moon for the Misbegotten

I would say this is a good comment on what happens when there is no forgetting, as Tillich says (see previous entry).

http://content.health.msn.com/content/article/13/1671_50624
All the whoopdedoo about health benefits from drinking wine -- probably came from the wine growers -- has now been shown to apply even more to grape juice. Translation: it's not the wine, stupid, it's the juice of the grape.

Here's a good one for you. "An angry man is again angry with himself when he returns to reason." --Publilius Syrus

I feel a couplet coming on.