I returned from my holidays trip on a January gelid morning, 2 am, -25 degrees Celsius and tons of snow.
A real contrast to my system.
When I opened the door to my house, I breathed a sigh of relief, everything was in order.
I turned on a light, got rid of my suitcases, coat and purse, desperate to go to my bed.
Travel days are noisy, the crowds, turbines, microphones; acoustic trauma, as my otorhinolaryngologist father would say.
The peace of my home was my best welcome.
I sat for a while in my “Punto Fijo (fixed point)” (as my mother called her chair and now, I call mine) to take that much desired bath of silence.
The bustle of the world ceased for a very brief moment.
Suddenly, I heard an unusual sound in my house, at least one that I’ve hardly noticed before. A timid and rhythmic, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock…
The persistent drip, so to speak, came from my wall clock.
I tried to ignore it, but it suddenly seemed more numbing than all the noises of my day combined.
I went up to my room and closed the door.
Tomorrow I would deal with the irritating clock.
The most deafening of silences, the implacable.
Time. Tick tock, tick tock…