Quill and the Quiet Question

Quill wanted to know where quiet came from. It was not in the ticking clock, the bubbling kettle, or the cupboard that squeaked whenever breakfast appeared.

He searched behind curtains and beneath beds. In the smallest room he found someone drawing at a desk. Pencil strokes moved like mouse feet across the page, then stopped as Quill climbed into the empty corner of the chair.

There it was: quiet was not the absence of every sound. It was a safe place where small sounds could be heard. Quill purred, the pencil started again, and neither one disturbed it.