Even home with a mind-cracking headache, I still find delight in the disruption of the routine. I like hearing the neighborhood as it is when I'm not around. The cars going by sound different when I don't have to join them. There are thrums and hums and sonorous clanging from some unidentifiable piece of machinery doing unknown work somewhere in the distance. A few chirrups of birds. The faraway growl of an airplane. Inside, the window blinds creak as the cat inserts herself between them and the window for a sunbath. Being still is one of my favorite activities, something I inherited from my mom, who could sit in an old lawn chair under the stars for hours. I used to think she was boring until I discovered the pleasures of sitting quietly in various locations, some urban and busy and some pastoral and slow. It is deeply satisfying to sink down into existence and simply feel it sustaining you.