Hushed as I move from one room to the next, my fuzzy socks making little shush-shush sounds on the hardwood floor, it’s raining outside.
Soft, steady, running water on my roof becomes the puddles in my yard, replenishing the grass, flowers, bushes, trees.
The clocks tick softly, the fridge humms low, the cats make no noise as they sleep soundly on the top of the couch.
And Rosie barks.
Outside, I know she’s a muddy mess, so I’m waiting to bring her in. She’s wet, but happy to be outside, joyously yapping at the birds, the rain as it falls, maybe at the air itself. Who knows?
And then, she falls quiet again, as though she heard my mental