the silence before sleep

I love the silence before sleep.

Lying in the dark, at first noticing nary a sound but mine and mama's breathing, I begin to be aware of all the little, inconsequential noises that hide during the busy, loud day, as they awaken gently and begin to remind the world that they're here too - a wall creaking, a scittering little mouse rushing across the attic floor, the placid gurgle of the fountain outside our window, a lone autumn cricket chirping sadly about the by-gone days of summer, the refrigerator humming, the fan on the front porch whirring away - all these swell quietly into a peaceful symphony of night time noise.

Yet all these sounds put together don't mar the silence. I could still hear a pin drop, (or a bobby pin fall from the bedside table, as happened last night,) cutting the air with a sharp ping. The sounds are there, but they're so quiet and undemanding that they almost go unnoticed.

I can think beautiful thoughts and dream darling dreams while lying still, or I can simply listen to this unobtrusive orchestra. It doesn't require my attention, nor does it make me want to drown it out by thinking or speaking.

It's merely there. Surrounding me every night. Waiting to be heard.