quiet times require deep thought

Extricating myself from the church picnic is no easy task.

Lovely people whom I love (and I think who love me, too) bunch together in jovial groups, two or three sports events are rollicking on the lawns, and wilted desserts still dot the cafeteria tables.
I could toss plastic balls with little ones, help clean the kitchen, root for my hubby's team, or catch up with another busy mom. But any of that will exact a steep toll on my already-tired voice. Yesterday's road-trip and dinner in a noisy resturant was my weekend limit, I guess.

This predicament leads me homeward to a quiet house. Usually a treat, but today a penance. Yes, the swish of the washingmachine and thump of the breadmaker lend an air of purpose to my surroundings. Yes, I can loll at the computer and fiddle with the wording of today's entry without interruption. Yes, a volume of Brahms is displayed on the piano, inviting me to scold my melancholy away with rich counterpoint. But.....

Alright, I won't complete that complaint.
I'll just backtrack to the blessings inherent, take up my pick, and explore the patch I've been given.

I've heard tell: hidden treasure is buried in the most unlikely field.