Quiet Time

The house is warm, too damn warm.

            Borderline inferno-hot.

            Nothing stirs in the silent

            house except for the soft hum

            of the motor in the old

            brown recliner that tilts back

            to a sitting position.

            The room’s still air matches her

            quiet desperation at

            growing old and forgetful.

She sits perched on her recliner

            like she has done so many times

            before today. Book in hand,

            she squints her eyes and tilts the

            book towards the light so that

            she can read the tiny print.

Soft chuckles escape her lips

            as she reads. Her feet moving

            up and down as if she is

            keeping time with the story

            she is reading. I wonder

            what bad guy she is quietly

            pursuing from the comfort

            of her recliner and warm house.

Her kitty cat is nearby.

            Curled into a ball on the

            ottoman that’s near her feet,

            unaware of the chase that

            seems to be unfolding on the

            pages in the book in the

            hands of her faithful owner.

            Soft purrs waft up into the

            still room, breaking the silence.