Tucked in bed, lights out, TV off...one would think the song would be "Silent Night." Not s'much. The freezer in the laundry room next door comes in with a low hum while the musicians tune up. Michael has had lifelong breathing issues and takes the lead. He may, in turn, burble, sniff, wheeze or snore. I almost worry when I can't hear him. Ralph, curled up next to me in the cat cave, has never purred...he snorks when he's happy. He's happy in the cat cave and though he's muffled by the blankets, he's the rhythm section. Any vocals are provided by a hunting owl. The Children of the Night, the coyotes, seem to have moved out of our area entirely. I can't remember when I last heard their wild chorus. The tiny peeper frogs that once were so abundant and loud are also gone. Celeste is the audience, silent in her admiration for the performance. Me? I guess if I join the chorale, it must come after sleep arrives. There were rumors in the past that I snore. Well, maybe more than rumors when it was suggested that nose strips might be useful for a quiet night. If I do now, I'd be the lead because I'm bigger and would be louder, like that lady in the choir years ago who sang with gusto and off key. Nope, Silent Night it ain't.
Stay safe. Be well.
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