Make it quiet.
Turn off the computers. Turn off the TV and the stereo. Close the windows to shut out the drone of the traffic, the groan of construction, the metallic sound of the birds
Let it be quiet now. Just the sound of the wind pressing against the windows and of the house settling
Go quietly down the hall, walking slowly, moving soft. So as not to disturb them
They're in there. In the big quiet room with the sun sliding through the blinds and writing solar calligraphy on the walls.
Twenty minutes ago they were out with you in the park, all motion and sound and furry energy, legs pounding the grass and teeth flashing as mouths opened to catch balls and tails whipping in the air.
Now they're here. The old girl on the big chair with the blue blanket, curled up in a soft knot, nose tucked under the white brush of her tail. Snoring softly
The young one is in the corner of the sectional couch, also curled up, head half under a pillow, eyes shut tight, body slightly twisted, a tangle of white paws.
Quiet now. Resting. Totally satiated. The energy bled out of them, so that the warm furry bodies radiate a kind of peace. Stand there and watch them, bodies twitching occasionally as a dream passes under their skin, an ear twitching
But quiet. Still. As if they could lay there forever. But watch them carefully, listen to their breathing. Their energy is still there. Like a bow laying on a table, an inanimate object but by the grace of its curve and the tension of its string, still indicative of action. Of power and speed.
That is there in the two of them. But for now it's lambent. For now, they are peace and stillness.
For now. In this moment.
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