March 2

At night the fridge switches off, and only at that moment do you hear that it has been humming all along. The silence afterwards is strangely distinct. It has an edge now.

Much of what surrounds you, you notice only at its transitions. A steady noise, a familiar state, a calm that has lasted a long time: as long as they continue, they hardly register. Only a beginning or an end makes them noticeable.

From this you might resolve to be more attentive and to hear what stays the same as well. But if you concentrate on listening quietly, you soon hear mostly your own listening. Waiting for an impression fills the space where it might appear.

The moment when you become aware of something apparently can't be brought about. It comes from outside, in passing, often through some small thing, and lasts barely longer than that thing does.

After a while the fridge starts up again. You still hear it, and then you don't.