48. Nights. A year or so after the lovely Robin and I moved to Butler County from the Youngstown, Ohio, area, we had a bunch of friends visit for a couple days. I remember Frank standing in our yard one evening, stock still. When someone asked him what he was doing, he said he was listening. "To what?" "To the quiet." Always a man of few words, he elaborated, explaining that there were no gunshots or cars to be heard. I know there are many places in the world where one can enjoy a quiet night, with no sounds of cars or gunshots. But one of my favorite things about living where I do is, on a clear Summer night, sleeping with our bedroom door (to the balcony) open and hearing the thrumming sound of a distant train (probably rolling through New Miami). And the beauty of the night sky and the phases of the moon, which we sometimes enjoy while sitting on our deck, and the sunsets (I seldom see a sunrise!) that beautify the neighborhood to the west.
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