Kosin store wooden wall clocks

It smells of fragrant, ripe fruit, leftover vegetable scraps from the previously used juicer and a stagnant, aged history of a family grown up and gone, leaving only two remaining—both of whom are rarely home at the same time. Neutral shades of beige and dark wood occupy most of the space—quite a vacant and quiet place. An old grandfather clock hangs on the wall silent, unmoving—staring into the unchanging home—frozen still at 7:45 as if time actually stopped with this old clock's arms. I'm here mainly at night, only accompanied by him—I'm barely able to detect his presence from the other room. Where I live, many creatures are constantly in action. Children, pets, parents, television, video games, neighbors—the noise level sometimes reaches unbearable decibels. Here... here everything is quiet and still for the exception of the low steady hum of the refrigerator and the tiny orchestra of crickets outside. The answering machine chirps a steady, pulsing beep—but predictable enough to almost ignore. It is more calming here than anywhere else I am able to go—a blank canvas of sorts—the only place that keeps me apart from overwhelming activity or seemingly unavoidable and mindless media. I am able to exhale a sigh—releasing all of my stresses and concerns of the day. I am able to clear my mind and rest, which allows my own thoughts to finally emerge and speak clearly to me.