I just had a late-night panicked remembrance that, oops, trash pickup is Monday now, and I had better get the bins out before I forget. As I was stealthily trundling our official town trash can out to the curb, I was struck anew by one of the reasons I love our new home town. One terminus of the Boston MBTA subway system lies perhaps 15 miles from our house; not too far, all things considered. And yet here, at 12:15 am, it is absolutely silent. Even the crickets and tree frogs respect the deep quiet of this midsummer night. The traffic down a nearby state route has ceased for the night, and the interstate is far enough away that we do not hear the cars. It's finally cooled off enough that most of the a/c units in the neighborhood are quiet for the moment, and the air traffic into the local AFB has stopped for the night. The air is heavy, damp and still, and the only sounds are the rustlings of small things that are active during the night. When I take a deep breath, I smell the woods. The city is very far away tonight, and I like that.