The buildings I walk past are silent now. No condensers moving pressurized fluid. No high speed fans removing heat from copper fins. No motors turning on with the tell-tale click, laborious, deep first cycle, and transition to the hum of high pitched motion. No refrigerator motor in the kitchen. No air conditioning blowing cold air across my bed and face.

It feels as though the electrons in the recess of the walls, floor, and ceiling are lying still, no longer changing directions sixty times a second, racing that way and then back again in a perpetual frenzy of subatomic locomotion.

The screen across the front of the window has not set properly for years and rattles with the slightest breeze. Now, its irregular clatter is correlated with the breeze moving through the open window. I hear the rumble of distant thunder, my room is lit up, for just an instant, with each flash of electric light. The light rustle of the leaves, the air moving between the Casitas, and the clicking of the deer feet on the concrete.

This is what I hear when the power is down. It’s a good time to just be.