It's now the crack of dawn. I'm on the floor of my loft looking out the balcony toward the reflection of the patio lights from across the pond which is still shining like flickering candles. In about thirty minutes, the Canadian geese and a single heroin will gather at the back of my yard, bathing and fishing...or maybe gossiping. In about an hour, the coi fish will surface, swimming around the pond looking for food. It is usually the time my mom starts working in the garden and feeding them. Soon, everyone else will reluctantly get up and make gargling noises, splashing noises, and, sometimes, complain about a hard day ahead. The silence will be molested!
For now, everywhere is silence, except for the constant, soft, wind-blowing sound of the ceiling fan above me. I love this sound...very much. It signifies a sense of peace in my heart and soul. It brings me back to the very few peaceful memories of my childhood. Amidst the relentless war, the poverty, there were summer afternoons when my siblings and I would take naps on the floor around our mom, pretending everything was ok. Then, everything was still. The only noise was from the fan, except for the occasional motor sound of a motorcycle passing by. This was very peaceful to me. This was before I actually understood the meaning of other sounds, the sounds of bombs, the sounds of rifles, the sound of a sigh, the sounds of the sorrows of life. It was just the sound of a ceiling fan and the love of my mom during these hot, humid summer afternoons that were instilled in my heart and soul.
Now, I love an early morning with the cool breeze and mild sound of my ceiling fan. It reminds me that if I look for peace, it's there. I just have to tune out everything else. I just have to be positive and enjoy the good that comes to me every day. The bombing will end; the gunfire will end. The hardship of each day will end.