Silence

 

It’s early.  It’s Saturday.  It’s fourth of July weekend.  Even the birds are quiet.  Maybe they get time off too.  The angel clock in the living room is doing its thing, making sure there are some sounds.  But quiet rules. 

I’ve been in the woods when there were moments like this, rare moments.  Living things move, and they tend to make noise.  The wind in the trees makes noise.   At the shore there is the systole and diastole of the surf, and all the players in the gull league.  They’re called Laughing Gulls for a reason.

Sound is the norm of life. 

They say there is no sound in space.  You need atmosphere to carry the waves.  Here on these islands of rock, within envelopes of air, sound tells of movement and life.  So this moment is a startling exception.  I can appreciate it as such, but it’s strange, alien.

I’ve been in church sanctuaries that felt like this.  The atmosphere is other, different than the norm.  There is a sense of presence in it.  Without all the distractions, there behind it all.  Something, without shape, in the silence.

There, a mocking bird decided to hold forth.  I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed.  I think I’m grateful to be alive.