a quiet morning full of sounds.

Settle down to  write now, now that the coffee has been made and the pills all taken, the one and a half, the one for comfort and the one lower pressure, blockers both.
There is the sound of the cat flap flopping, and the sound of bells from the churches tolling out the time.
Nine.
The sound of the church bells is not simultaneous, not all at once. There is a gathering of sound, a cacophony, a final tinkle and then silence.
Nine  o'clock and it is a silent, holiday-season Saturday in a small town.
The silence is broken by a police siren, quietening down as it vanishes into the distance.
Then there is silence again.
And in the farther distance the sound of the fire brigade's horn, called a Martin's horn. The police siren is such a horn too, the tone is slightly different. These are all rescue services.
And then the silence is back.
The cat calls from behind the closed bedroom door. Get up  and open it, let the cat in. It wanders about, nuzzling the corners of the furniture, sniffing the electrical cords of the computer, giving them a trial chew. Then a short jump up onto the knees, let herself be stroked a bit, deposit a few hairs from the copious supply in her fur, and then go away again, jump down to the floor, and go back to nuzzling the furniture. The cat seems generally interested, wandering around, sniffing things, stretching. Then she stops in front of the kichen door and commences to seemingly observe the light switch.
And she is purring all the while.
There is the sound of a compressor in the neighbours house, perhaps part of a refrigerator.

A quiet morning full of sounds.