Every Saturday morning, if I wake up early enough, I can hear music outside of my window coming from the street. It's never quite same. Every time, I hear something like the simple sort of tune you would get from a music box. The street is quiet. The vent breathes loudly in the background. Wind brushes through the tree and sounds like an ocean made of paper.
Sometimes I can hear a plane passing by. Or car. Or a woodpecker. If the weather is nice enough, I can hear the children playing outside.
Instead of curtains, I have these sheer sort of window covers that never dare block out sunlight. Light fills the whole room, making everything slightly sepia toned. The walls in my room are sort of a bleached sky blue sort of color. The fan is on, making everything in the room slightly tremble, as if from the cold instead rushing air.
The fan, I have noticed, is always curiously silent. Unless you listen very closely and purposefully you can't hear the very quiet 'whoomp-a whoomp-a' sort of sound it makes.
It is very peaceful. I could just lay in my bed forever and think about....nothing.
The beauty of doing nothing.
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