Silence

There are moments - just after your roommates close their eyes but before they begin snoring, for instance - when it seems the air bates its breath for the frantic moments of dreaming that approach.
The sound of the car engine and the tires on the freeway, the cool hum of a forest under snow, the whine of plumbing in a long, hot shower, the hum of computer cooling systems or the wide, background roaring of the ventilation all appear only when everything else ceases.
When for an hour there are no sirens, no click of typing, no cell-phone gossip or cluttered radio - when from behind the drywall there come no explosions or crescendoing soundtracks, or the syncopated rhythms of tap-dancing suddenly there are spaces. No one argues, or laughs. No one applauds or declaims. Nothing is turned on, or warmed up, or begun.

In those moments crowd all the neglected thoughts of the day and cry pitifully for attention, and they must be sorted out carefully before any new comfort can be had. All my infant thoughts must be sung to, lullabyed into slumber before my tired body thoughts drift out into the warm dreamtide.
In the glowing dreamtide beneath the blackest of skies I find all the harmonies of silence.