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Photo via Jared.Schmidt on Flickr

I like silence. I like the kind of silence where you hear the crickets, birds chirping, and the distant rumble of the highway, bouncing off the mountain and coming together in my ears.

I’ve never been fond of white noise. Vacuums, although I use one often enough, drive me up the wall. A.Cs, not only making my environment a little too cold, buzzes in my head like a mosquito.

Silence is golden. In a house full of kids younger than me, silence is hard to come by. Total, utter silence in this house is found at 3 AM, as long as I’m lucky enough that Brother isn’t crying then.

Normally I’m not even awake at 3 because I also like to sleep. That is one major difference from my peers- I hate the night. It pounces on you like a silent cat, dropping low and hiding things behind shadows and darkness.

Although silence and night do not go together. Our old old house creaks and groans in the night, and maybe it will rain on the roof, and I will hear the soft pitter-patter through my ceiling.

Night is reserved for noises like crickets and whippoorwills and mockingbirds. Night is reserved for the sounds of the wind whistling and the brush shaking.

Silence and night do not go together.