After the last hummingbird had left the feeder on the window, after the guitar and singing but before being ready for bed, we went out on the screened-in porch last night. We sat there for over an hour, talking in the warmth and darkness. The air, a bit heavy and humid, lay against us like a blanket almost too thin to kick off on an almost cool night. An occasional passing car provided momentary counterpoint to the droning of cicadas. I couldn’t identify the soloist, maybe a cicada with its own ideas or a tree frog, but something’s “kurr-kurr-karumph” came from the area of the locust trees behind the house.

We talked about Randa’s job search, the Crosby, Stills and Nash concert coming up this weekend and whatever else seemed to come to mind. Neither of us minded the occasional silences, if there is such a thing on a summer night in town when you live surrounded by trees and streets. Some people seem threatened by the absence of conversation, as if thinking without speaking were a bad thing or if their partner is somehow obligated to share each and every thought. In a good relationship, what is held private is respected as much as what is put into words.

What we really need to fear are the things put into words before the thinking has taken place. I’ve offered a number of apologies in my life; most were accepted. Very rarely have I ever needed to apologize for something I didn’t say. This is not fresh insight, by the way.

One of the ancient writers said we should be quick to listen and slow to speak. Maybe he knew what it was like to spend the early hours of a summer night treasuring time spent with one he loved.

H. Arnett
8/26/09