I have wondered lately if I am living in a very quiet Scandinavian, possibly north German, film with very little dialogue and very little noise. In my backyard, I can listen for wind on grass and here each blade bend as it rushes through. Like an art-house movie walking from empty room to empty room, trailing my fingers behind on the wall as I go. I read a book on the back porch in the sunshine with no one around.
Lately, everything has been quieter.