It was five o’clock on a late January morning. Outside it was bitter cold. There was ice in the treetops, on the cars, on the deck, the walkway and the steps. There were icicles hanging from the gutters on the house and the bird feeders in the yard. It was dead still outside. There was no sound of traffic on the main road a mile away. No wail of sirens. No cars going up and down the street, subwoofers thumping. No garbage trucks noisily making their pre-dawn collections. Not even the lonesome sound from the horns of the freight trains passing through town. And best of all, no dogs barking next door.
The man lay still in bed listening to the quiet. For almost an hour he did not move. The sound was his favorite in the world. He listened to it intently. The silence. The beautiful silence. The silence reflected peace and tranquility. The silence encouraged introspection. The silence was spiritual.
The only activity outside was the birds. The man had filled the seed and suet feeders the day before. The flocks came in for the food that the cold ground and vegetation could not provide. He could not hear them, but he knew they were there. They too were quiet. It was as if the entire world was cold, calm and hushed.
The beauty and the still of the winter storm would be gone in a day or so, possibly by that afternoon. Though the temperatures would remain hovering at or below freezing, the sun would come out. The ground would warm and the ice would melt. The cars would begin moving up and down the street, in and out of the neighborhood. The traffic on the main road a mile away would return, along with the sirens and subwoofers. The trains would moan up and down the tracks, the trash collectors would resume their morning rounds, the neighbors would venture outside with power equipment and the dogs next door would return to their incessant barking. Life would return to normal, whatever that might be.
But for now it was still and soundless. The silence was majestic. The silence was fleeting. And it was beautiful. The beautiful silence.
As you age you mellow. And for that mellowness to truly form, you need quiet…silence…no noise. After a bit you start to feel that mellowness, and the more quiet, silence to encounter the more you realize that it is essential for your wellbeing. I truly believe there should be a place (or several!) where you can ‘sign up for silence, kind of like making a reservation at the NO NOISE HOTEL! I feel like this could really work. Whatcha think? 2-3 days of snow/sleet/ice is not the same, but I will take it!🤗
Hey my friend. I wish you were in Carroll County.
Not to far away from several cities with all of the healthcare and retail they provide.
But here, we call Little vine community. 63 homes, small HOA, with street lights and a pool area.
You don’t hear cars on the streets. There are kids sometimes playing wiffle ball in the streams or go over to the rack area where there’s a basketball court far away from the homes.
I lived in the woods for 35 years before I came here. It was Edie’s Request. We knew six or seven families that lived here.
It’s a throwback to Mayberry.
I pray you both find a peaceful place maybe while you might enjoy on this side of heaven.