Ramadan is coming, a respite. No eggs to crack before dawn, no sweets to bake for in the night. I know Ramadan in America spells loneliness for many, but I like spending Ramadan alone, just me and two babies far too young to expect anything different of the month. I thrive on it being the quietest time -- no streamers strung between buildings, no drummers announcing the coming dawn, no cookies and colored lights, no sheep gathered in pens by the streetside awaiting their fates. Just a woman and her children, a woman and her books, a woman and her prayers. A life tuned down, a world put on pause. Just a whispering before god, a prayer cast into the night.