It's quiet here Lord, in Western Pennsylvania

     Years ago I remember reading that Title line from a poem.  I've long forgotten the poem, the poets name and even the book I read it in.   

    However that first line has always stuck with me.   

    It is quiet here in Western Pennsylvania, I can hear the two dozen or so different species of birds sing in the trees that surround my home.  They swoop in sometimes, chickadee's and mourning doves, to eat at my feeders.

    I've not seen a robin yet, and I do miss the family of Cardinals that used to come home every year and build a nest not far from my home in Tampa.   The young ones first flight was often to our feeder, where they would feast on black oily sunflower seeds and knock the little grains to the grass below.  Where rabbits and squirrels would gather to feast. 

    Here a lone chipmunk bides his time and avoids the feral cats that would gobble him whole.  I watch as he nervously stuffs his cheeks before disappearing into the underbrush.

   

    It is quiet her Lord, as I lie awake in bed staring into the black and hear the snort of my neighbors house.  I smile as a doe takes a tentative lick off of salt block, then blurs into the woods surrounding my home.   

    I turn on some Grateful Dead in the middle of the day, letting the music loop lazily through the home as I stare at the data on my work computer screen.   As I start to hum Ripple to myself, I think about how I'm connected to people I will never meet.  My actions will bury someone's love, send grandchildren to college, and keep a roof over someone's head.

    It is quiet here in Western Pennsylvania, as my cats count in the few passing cars in the warm autumn sun.  They purr lazily as they drift into sleep, happy and content with bellies full of milk and food.

    It's easy for me to forget that any life other then this one ever existed.  I have, in a month, grown used to the quiet and solitude.  Of course, it's easy to say that as the last boxes of our move are unpacked and the rooms start to come together. I've been kept busy

    Come winter it will be time to paint the walls and read those books that I've put off.  I can't help but wonder if I will soon miss the noise and activity of city life. 

    For now though, I am happy enough to wake; wake before the dawn and start out my window to watch the day begin anew.

    The world may be crazy and I'm afraid for my country, but for now...I am at peace.