Like cats

There is a kind of sound we make
to soothe our young
or ourselves in times of need and sleeplessness.

a purring,
a form of song,
a vibration without words,
a reverberation that fills our chests
and pulses to the beat of our own pumping hearts.

We hum the lullabies our mothers sang to us, and the ones their mothers’, mothers’, mothers’ sang as well.

We hum the songs we hear, the songs we create. The songs filled with poems, strings, keys, bass, treble, and the like.

We hum the songs composed by earth herself- the tone of the cricket chirp, the cadence of cicada call, the bird song, the solid whoosh of the wind, the cresting waves of the ocean.

We hum, quiet as a whisper, or loud, to drown out the sounds of the traffic outside,
the voices calling across streets below.

Our hum is powerful enough to ease fears
strong enough to fill the hollow of loneliness, of homesickness, of loss. Bright enough to light a dark night and chase bad dreams away.

Our hum means comfort. Our hum says “you are safe, here in this place, at this time, with me.”

You are safe. You are safe. You are safe. You are held.

And you are loved.

Come. Sister, Brother. Lay your head against my chest and I’ll lay mine against yours. We will hum, and we will be at peace. Simply.

Like cats.

Thank you for listening,
Love,
Natasha

photo by Lynn Johnsen