Quiet

Summer is shutting down and pulling up stakes. I am sitting at the kitchen island, typing away with the windows open. It is still green and lush outside, but it is foggy and cool this morning. There are no sounds of air conditioning units churning, or lawn mowers buzzing. Just the crickets and an occasional bird.

Rather than the incessant chatter of robins, I now hear the cry of a lone cat bird, the tambourine-like chirp of a cardinal off in the trees, the call of a band of crows (yes, I know it's a 'murder', but to me they always seem like a group of unruly 15-year-old boys, prowling the neighborhood to pick through trash or sit on my roof and peck at each other).

It is quiet, like all the animals are holding their breath and waiting for the season to change. Can they feel us flying through space, tied to the center of the solar system by the invisible string of gravity? Can they feel us, sitting on the top half of the Earth, tilting farther away from the sun?