The lovely thing about small towns

I grew up in a small town, it was very quiet. Most of the noise was inside my head anyway. The thing about small towns is that they are always so quiet, and sometimes the silence is too much to handle. But it's okay.

It's one in the afternoon on a Sunday, half of the town is already sleeping, and the other half is doing the dishes, getting ready to settle on the couch or in their beds, maybe on a comfy rug in the living room. You can decide if you want to take a walk to the shops, most of them will be closed, but the ice cream place is open.

You can stay inside, awake, resting in bed or enjoying a simple breeze in your backyard. It's so quiet. Even the breeze seems to respect the silent nature of the humans living there.

Or two in the afternoon on a Monday. These days are not exactly quiet, but that's the thing about small towns, they are always, somehow, in some way, quiet.

Half of the kids are back home from a morning studying, the other half are sitting in their classrooms. Most of the adults are working, and the soft hum of their thoughts keeps them company. You can stay inside again, looking for that same old breeze in your backyard. That's where the quietness can be found during the weekdays, by the back door of your house, staring at the big tree in your yard.

It's so quiet. The way small towns tend to be. The blue of the breeze and the green of the trees are the colours of the silence. While, on a rainy day, you have the company of the water hitting the ground, making the soft earthy spots wet. That's when you can smell the silence. Not a rare occasion, but one to be appreciated.

You don't need to think much, you can just enjoy it. Just another person, with their eyes closed or open, taking in the sound of the silence, hearing that soft and lovely quietness.