Recording Quiet

Sitting beside The Sweet Tennessee shimmering in the mild morning after a night rain.  Everything is turning from the bright green of new spring to the dark green of ripe fullness.  It is quiet, the river lolling about full to wollar in stillness before the long baking days of summer.  The mountains and trees are putting on weight, fattening up with shade to share in late July and long August and the small Blue Birds are flittering about preparing to wed.  My lover sleeps as does my dog, the clicking of my Mac keys the only sound—recording quiet as is a good habit.  Outside my windows, there is no sign of humanity but God is shore to sky, peak to peak.